Exception
by A-D-E-E-E-R
Summary: The one rule the Holmes boys abide by - caring is not an advantage. Their niece was the exception. Updated Weekly. REWRITTEN AND IMPROVED.
1. Alex Holmes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex J**

**Author's Note: Hey! Well, this story just kind of grew and grew and grew! Because of its size, I would recommend having a look through the chapter titles in the drop down box, just to get a feel for where it is headed. Thanks so much for the support!**

No one liked to ask. That was something that hadn't changed. It seemed some sort of unwritten code, to not broach the subject unless the victim brings it up willingly. But just because they didn't say anything didn't mean they weren't thinking about it. Wondering how it happened. They tried to be discreet, but discretion around Holmeses isn't easy. It got to the point that Alex felt obliged to answer their silent questions.

But she was vague.

_"I was six when it happened."_

_"No, we had no idea."_

_"I live with my uncle."_

_"Yes, I still think about her."_

_"I just got over it."_

But that last one was always a lie. She had never gotten over it. She couldn't bounce back like Sherlock and Mycroft. They had lost a sister, but she had lost a mother.

She couldn't remember too much about her. Just little things, snippets. Things like the smell of her perfume, or flashes of days out. There wasn't one day that she could solidly remember with May, apart from one.

The Day.

The Day when everything changed. The Day that death walked up to Maybelline Helena Holmes and tapped her on the shoulder. Or rather, _she _tapped _death _on the shoulder, a rope in the other hand and a tear in her eye, choking out that she was ready, that she _needed _to be taken.

It was pure chance that Alex was tottering down the stairs in her mother's last few moments. Wide eyes met wide eyes, and tears met tears.

"I'm so sorry, Alex," her mother mouthed unable to form the words as the life left her body, her feet dangling from the ground.

In that moment, little Alex, the little innocent, grew up. A six year-old hurled into the world of darkness and loneliness that she previously had been sheltered from. Just like that. And it was at that young age that Alex realised that she would have to either move on, or wilt.

After twelve months, she finally chose the former.

But she never 'just got over it'. Eight years on, the wound of her mother's death had never fully healed. Even as she was passed on to her mother's older brothers Mycroft and Sherlock – who had both been heavily featured even before The Day – the pain lingered in the background.

She just had to learn to be happy again.

* * *

><p>Alex stared into the mirror with loathing, her nose curled up and eyes flashing. She had picked the blue headband because the shop owner said it would bring out the blue in her eyes, but all it had succeeded in was bringing out her black curls. In clumps.<p>

She had long stopped referring to her hair as curly, however. Bushy, frizzy, and completely unmanageable was more apt. It reached down to her elbows, something that she had hated as a child, wanting it to be as long as her mother's. Looking at the headband suspended halfway down her arm, the sapphire-coloured butterfly tangled in her locks, Alex decided it was definitely long enough.

After ten minutes of wrangling and finally an encounter with some scissors, Alex threw the headband in the bin and fell back on her bed with a thump, exhausted. She had just opened her book to her bookmark and started to read when Sherlock's voice came booming from the living room.

"Alessandra Holmes, get down here now!"

Alex gritted her teeth, put down the book, "'Al-ex'! Two syllables, I'm sure a mind such as yours can compute!"

She noted, with amusement, the aggravated grumbling from downstairs, "Fine, _Alex_, get down here!"

Casting a longing look at her unfinished book, Alex reluctantly pulled herself to her feet and meandered down the stairs to where Sherlock was glaring at her, his hands behind his back.

"Do you have something you want to confess?" Sherlock asked expectantly.

Alex chewed the side of her mouth in mock thought, "Umm… no I don't think so, uncle dear."

"Really?" Sherlock dragged out, looking genuinely surprised. "You do know that if you confess, your sentence can be–"

"Significantly reduced, I know," Alex finished off. "But I have nothing to confess."

"Hmm."

It was the raised eyebrow that made Alex's casual demeanour crack.

"Did it work?" she asked with a grin.

Sherlock held out his illuminous pink hands, "I'd say that it did."

Alex squealed in delight and examined her uncle's skin, flipping his hands over and taking in her handiwork. With the wipe from the kitchen, Sherlock ran it over his skin and the pink was gone.

"Anderson isn't going to know what hit him," she grinned maliciously. "I gave him a warning, but he insisted on being an arse. Why does he even call you that still? Doesn't he get sick of it now? Anyway, I don't think we're doing anything today, right? Can I go finish my book?"

Sherlock nodded his consent but his eyes had focussed on his blackberry in his hand. Alex shrugged and went into the kitchenette to make a mug of tea. They had just recently moved into their new flat and everything was in a little bit of a state.

"On second thoughts, Alex, fancy heading to the morgue?" he asked her.

By the time Alex had put down the mug and walked back into the living room, Sherlock had already flown out of the door, his coat billowing majestically behind him.

"Every bloody time," she muttered as she pulled on her – much less attention-grabbing – coat and headed out of the door, not forgetting to grab her book.

* * *

><p>Alex had always been a hit growing up at Scotland Yard. Well… most actually wanted to hit her (Anderson and Donovan for a start), but Alex kept close to their boss so they didn't dare (plus they knew that if anyone laid a finger on her, not only the wrath of an extremely angry Sherlock Holmes awaited but the full force of the British Government, also known as Uncle Mycroft).<p>

It was a well-known fact that though the Holmes brothers were loathed to show any flicker of emotion at all, Alex was somewhat of an exception, especially after the death of their sister. And so it really wasn't a good idea to say or do anything remotely bad to their niece. That was just suicide. One could wipe away your identity; the other could hide your body where no one would ever find it.

All in all, Alex was an average teenager. She was nothing that would be considered particularly eye-catching aesthetically, she still had the pinched not-fully-grown into look about her face, and her extreme paleness was sometimes somewhat alarming – especially in summer.

Living with Sherlock meant that she had a degree of freedom to move around, compared to others her age. Plus, the flats they lived in were usually in the centre of London, so there was _plenty _to do. On the rare occasion she was told not to go out, she didn't exactly stay put then, either. Strange smells from the kitchen and noisy neighbours in the surrounding flat meant that escaping on a daily basis was necessary, even when the guardian in her life decided it wasn't. Usually it was him and Mycroft deducing their way into her privacy that pushed her to that anyway.

She would hop through her bedroom window and onto the shed below before following the wall along and dropping down into the alleyway. From there, she could go for a walk, or take a bus somewhere and do whatever the hell she liked without being watched by dear Uncle Mycroft with his bugs and Sherlock with his bloody intellect – though security cameras were sometimes a problem.

And the last time that she felt the need to escape, she caught up with her friend Logan and stayed out a little bit longer than she was supposed to. And one thing led to another and suddenly they were at his friend's place in Southend.

Alex had been grounded over incidents like that more times than she cared to remember. Mostly, it was two days or so after she had been found that she dreaded the most. The first day – no matter what they said outwardly – relief was the prime emotion. However, she knew that by the second day, relief would have given way to anger over how irresponsible, and stupid, and reckless, and how totally like her mother she was.

Mycroft had the house under surveillance, of course. But they had been the ones to teach her how to go unnoticed, so that exercise was pretty pointless. It was like locking someone in a cage, giving them the key, then walking away.

It was suffocating at times, but really, Alex wouldn't have opted for a different lifestyle. She was too much of a Holmes.

* * *

><p>Alex ran down the stairs of their new flat at Baker Street, taking two at a time. She just managed to get in the taxi in time.<p>

"What took you?" Sherlock snapped, but the small twitch of his lips took the edge off the sting.

"Oh well sorry that I was trying to be helpful and make you tea. I will leave you to die of thirst next time."

There was a moment of silence.

"You know I wouldn't actually die of-"

"Yes, I know Sherlock!"

As her uncle gave her an amused grin, she tried to flatten her rabid hair. The scissors hadn't exactly been kind to it.

"What did you do to it?" he asked. "It looks even worse than usual."

"Thanks, for the confidence boost, Sherlock."

"I told you the hairband wouldn't work."

"Yes, you did, congratulations," she said and leant back against the seat of the taxi as they headed to Bart's.

* * *

><p>Alex walked through the halls of the morgue with her freshly bought tea, watching as a family grieved over the loss of yet another loved one. Sometimes she couldn't help but feel that perhaps her Uncle Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft were right: caring <em>wasn't<em> an advantage. But they had always assured her that she was the exception. She couldn't help but think, _how many exceptions can you have before the rule vanishes completely_?

Usually she didn't dwell on it. She was one to overthink things sometimes, so she tried to avoid falling into the rabbit hole.

Alex was startled to find that sometime through her thoughts of their new flat, she had reached Molly's room and found Sherlock whipping a body senseless with a riding crop. Alex shook her head in exasperation and went to stand over to Molly – who was flinching with every whack of the crop.

"Hey, Alex!" she said, smile, "How are you?"

Alex shrugged.

"One of these days, Sherlock is going to burst a blood vessel," Alex sighed.

Molly nodded her agreement.

"So… how's school?" Molly asked casually.

"Fine," she answered.

There was an awkward pause.

"Did you know that the distance light travels in a year is equal to 9.4605284 multiplied by 1015 meters," she rattled off from memory. "Sherlock taught me that when I was really little. I used to say it whenever he and my mum were trying to have an intelligent conversation that I didn't understand. Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"School."

"Boring, let's move on."

"I wish you would tell us what really goes on there," she smiled sadly.

Alex sighed, "Nothing. You all seem to think I get tortured there."

"You sometimes look like you do."

"I don't get along with many people. Is that so much of a surprise looking at my family?"

Molly winced and patted her shoulder as Sherlock emerged.

"I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man's alibi depends on it. Text me. Alex, would you get my phone, I left it in the reception," Sherlock said.

Alex huffed, set down her drink, and jogged out of the room. She got to the reception only to find that her uncle's mobile was nowhere in sight.

"Seriously?" she grumbled as she turned on her heel towards the labs that she knew Sherlock would have moved to.

"Sherlock, your phone isn't there because you left it at the flat, you idiot. Do you just do that to get rid of me?"

"Yes. I was thinking, you were putting me off."

"My _face _was? I'm not Anderson."

Sherlock's mouth quirked upwards briefly.

Alex rolled her eyes and dragged a blue stool over to where Sherlock was working. She pulled out her book and let it fall open at the page that her bookmark had held.

A swift knock on the door interrupted her reading at a good bit, annoying her immensely, but she silently promised to behave at the look that Sherlock sent her from across the table. When had he moved?

The door swung open to reveal a large man with a suit and glasses, and another with a checked shirt and a walking stick. Alex raised her eyebrow as her uncle shot her a look.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" he mouthed at her.

She frowned as she looked at the man, not catching on to the deduction. Going on a hit and miss and pretending she understood, she mouthed back, "Tenner on Iraq?"

He nodded.

"Bit different from my day," she heard the man she now assumed was a soldier say.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? I left mine somewhere or other," Sherlock asked, still peering into the microscope.

"Flat, I told you," Alex murmured.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike countered.

"I prefer to text."

Mike sighed, "Sorry, it is in my coat."

"Err, here… use mine," the soldier said, fishing around in his pocket for the device.

Alex perked up from her book; she certainly hadn't been expecting that. By the look on her Uncle's face, neither had he. Normally people were intimidated by Sherlock or just didn't like to speak to him.

"Oh, thank you."

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson," Mike introduced.

Alex gave a small two fingered wave. He smiled back.

Sherlock flipped down the keypad on the mobile.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked.

Alex leaned further forward in her seat. Was there a tenner in the bag?

"Sorry?" John asked in confusion.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq? Choose carefully, I have a tenner riding on this," Sherlock said, never taking his eyes of the phone that he was texting goodness knows who on.

Mike smiled knowingly at John.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you…"

Alex swore.

"Watch your language or it will be another tenner," Sherlock warned, holding out his hand, "Cough up."

"For god's sake," she grumbled as she slammed a ten pound note into his hand. "You only care about me not swearing so Mycroft won't sign you up for parenting lessons again."

Sherlock grinned smugly as he turns to Molly who had just entered with two mugs.

"Ah Molly, coffee, thank you."

She placed a mug of hot chocolate in front of Alex and she gave her a toothy grin. One perk about being at Bart's was the drinks were non-stop.

"What happened to the lipstick?" Sherlock asked as he sipped his coffee.

"It wasn't working for me," she mumbled with a blush.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth is too small now."

Alex glared at Sherlock and shot Molly an apologetic smile. She shook her head signalling that it was fine but Alex could see the disappointment that had settled behind her eyes as she left the room.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

Alex's head snapped to Sherlock. Was he-? Well, they had a spare room… and it wasn't like _she_ could help pay the rent.

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked. Alex got the impression that he really didn't have a clue what was going on.

_He'd better get used to that_, she thought. God knew she'd had to.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end and I have my teenage niece that is as annoying as a migraine but still pretty loveable apparently. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."

John still looked incredulous,

"You told them about me?" he asked Mike.

"Not a word," Mike promised.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?"

Sherlock sighed, "I told Mike this morning that we must be difficult people to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap."

Alex smiled at John, "He does this."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked him in confusion.

Sherlock was saved from his deductions by changing the subject.

"We've just moved in to a nice little flat in central London. We ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, we have got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary," Sherlock said as they were halfway out of the door.

"Hey, that's our shared riding crop!" Alex exclaimed. "I won that at the fair!"

"Well we had better go and get it then hadn't we," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth.

"Is that it then?" John called.

"Is that what?" Sherlock asked.

"We've only just met and we're going to go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?" Sherlock questioned, unfazed by John's words.

"We don't even know a thing about each other. I don't know where we are meeting. I don't even know your names," John said, throwing his arms up to emphasize his point.

Alex and Sherlock shared a glance and Alex nodded at him, signalling for him to take this one. Bloody good job he went for it, she still had no clue. Trying to teach her wasn't going too well.

Sherlock smirked, "I know you are an army doctor and you have been invalided home from Afghanistan. You have got a brother worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he is an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I am afraid. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?"

Alex bit her lip to stop herself from giggling.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes, this is my _lovely_ niece Alex Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon!"

Alex outright laughed as he did the sexy wink that always made Molly swoon.

"You git!" she laughed.

Sherlock grinned proudly and flicked up his coat collar.

* * *

><p>When they arrived back at Baker Street, Alex went to Mrs Hudson's flat. The elderly woman was watching Connie Prince on television when she walked in.<p>

"Hey, Mrs H," Alex greeted brightly.

"Oh Alex dear, what a lovely surprise!" she said as she made her way to the girl and gave her a loving hug.

Alex breathed in the calming scent of lavender on the woman and relaxed against her shoulder. Mrs Hudson was like the classic grandmother.

Alex spent the next three hours relaxing with Mrs Hudson, watching crap television and drinking tea.

As Alex proceeded back up the stairs to her flat, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

**How was your trip to the morgue today?-MH**

Alex smiled at her phone.

**I know you spy on me, you don't need to rub it in my face. Anyway, my day was fine. How was yours?-AH**

**The usual, I'm afraid. Some prime ministers have no respect -MH**

**And you do?-AH**

**I am teeming with it -MH**

**Mycroft, it's getting to the point that I can hear you sarcasm through text. I believe that is a serious cause for alarm. And if you're texting it means you can't talk, so you're probably still in a meeting with him. Pay attention -AH**

**Sharp as ever -MH**

**Thank you. Good night Uncle Mycroft -AH**

**Sweet dreams -MH**

Alex blew out another exasperated breath, pocketed her phone and walked into the living room of 221B.

Sherlock was in his mind palace and Alex, knowing better than to interrupt him, headed to her room and closed the door. She slipped into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Alex often suffered from bouts of insomnia. She'd lie awake for hours, replaying moments over and over in her mind. Usually the moment she found her mother. Or the time she found Sherlock slumped in his chair with a needle at his feet.

Or worse, she'd dream.

Dreams were always so much realer. It was like living those moments again. And each time, it made Alex resent her mother just a little bit more. Why did she have to do it? Why did she have to leave her? She was just a child when it happened, and those questions played on her mind more than anything.

Had it been something she'd done?

When she had asked her uncles these questions, they told her that May thought there was no way out. It wasn't her fault. She was desperate.

But the truth was, neither Mycroft nor Sherlock would tell her what caused her mother's desperation. Whenever she delved further, they would just distract her by telling her to play a board game or eat some ice cream. Parenting at its finest.

She had given up trying. She couldn't bare the looks of pain on her uncles' faces whenever she mentioned her mother.

Alex sighed and turned over. Thankfully, she was asleep in under ten minutes, and that sleep was dreamless.

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	2. A Study in Pink - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for the support! Here goes chapter 2!**

**Enjoy:**

"Sherlock, are you planning on eating _anything _this week?" Alex asked from the table, half-eaten toast in hand.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing, just... you're usually more agreeable when you've got something in your stomach."

Sherlock glanced up from the newspaper, "You're worried that I'm going to scare John Watson away."

It wasn't said as a question.

"Just try and be nice, okay. All of our other flatmates have been disasters; I don't want this to be one."

He regarded her for a moment longer before resuming his skimming of the paper, "I'll behave myself."

"Good," she shifted the curtain. "I think this is his cab pulling up."

Sherlock sighed and folded up the news, throwing it haphazardly across the room, "Come on then."

They just opened the door as John was about to knock.

"Hello!" Alex chirped.

"Ah, Mr and Miss Holmes." He greeted.

"Sherlock and Alex please," Sherlock said, sending a look to Alex that clearly said 'look, I _can _be nice'.

"Yeah, don't make me feel old already," Alex added. "Or make me sound in any way married to him."

John gave her an amused smile.

"Well this is a prime spot, it must be expensive," John observed.

Sherlock shrugged, "Well Mrs Hudson, the landlady- she's given us a special deal. She apparently has soft spot for Alex. Can't think why."

Alex batted him playfully on the arm, "Plus we were able to help out when her husband was sentenced to death in Florida," Alex pointed out. She really loved that old lady.

"You stopped her husband from being executed?" John asked incredulously.

"Oh no, we ensured it. Well, _I _ensured it. Alex just went swimming the whole time."

"I'm sorry about him, John," Alex apologised sarcastically on her uncle's behalf. "It's not often we have people over, he tends to get a bit excited."

Before Sherlock could retort, Mrs Hudson emerged from her flat and immediately bade all three a cheery good morning.

"Come on in!" she told John with a smile.

"Thank you."

The trio made their way up the stairs to the flat, John slightly slower with his limp.

"Well this could be very nice," John stated.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So we went straight ahead and moved in."

At the same time as John said, "Soon as we get this rubbish cleaned up."

Alex winced animatedly, shrinking back into the kitchen. She supposed it was a mess, even more of a mess than what the last flat was.

"That's a skull," John pointed out, trying to ease the tension that had settled in the room.

The skull stood proudly on the top of the mantelpiece.

"Friend of ours. Well, I say friend."

Alex rolled her eyes, "Ignore him."

"You say that a lot," John pointed out.

"It applies a lot."

Mrs Hudson shuffled into the room.

"What do you think then Doctor Watson? There is another room upstairs, if you will be needing two bedrooms."

John looked extremely confused,

"Of course we will be needing two," he started.

"Oh don't worry, there's all sorts around here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones." She reassured him.

Alex hid a smirk behind her hand.

"Sherlock! The mess you've made!" Mrs Hudson berated him as Alex helped her to try and tidy things up a little in the kitchen. Alex couldn't hear the conversation in the living room for the clattering of pots and pans as she unpacked them.

"How about these suicides then? Would have thought this would be right up your streets, you two," Mrs Hudson told Alex and Sherlock, "Three exactly the same."

Alex saw Sherlock gazing out of the window and walked up next to him.

"Four," he said. "There has been a fourth, and there is something different this time."

"Ohh," Alex drawled good-naturedly as she walked over to also look out the window. "Look who came crawling back."

Sherlock smirked in amusement.

As DI Lestrade entered the room, the first thing he saw were the folded arms and knowing face of the child he had watched grow up.

"Something you wanted, Greg?" she asked innocently.

"Alright, alright, I was wrong, we need you both… again," he added glumly.

She laughed at his put out face, John's confused one, and Sherlock's impatient one.

"Where?" Sherlock demanded.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens," Lestrade replied.

"What's new about this one, you wouldn't have come to us otherwise?"

"Or did you just miss us too much?"

Lestrade clipped her lightly around the head before turning his attention back to the impatient Sherlock.

"You know how they never leave notes? This one did."

Alex's cocked her head in thought, sending Sherlock a raised eyebrow. She knew of course that Sherlock was ecstatic inside, but he was keeping his cool composure for now.

"Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked, disinterestedly fiddling with his sleeve.

"Anderson."

Alex's jokey smile dropped immediately and she turned away to hide her glower.

"He doesn't work well with us," Sherlock scowled. "Alex has a notebook full of different ways to kill him."

"Well he won't be your assistant," Lestrade began, deciding to ignore the latter part of what Sherlock just said.

"I _need _an assistant," Sherlock almost shouted.

"What about Alex?"

"She and I are basically the same mind; we need someone to point out the obvious sometimes!" Sherlock argued.

Alex cleared her throat awkwardly. Her uncle really didn't know how different she was from him.

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked wearily.

"Not in a police car, we will be right behind," Sherlock confirmed.

"Thank you," Lestrade said, shooting a smile at Alex and turning to leave.

All was silent in the flat until…

"Brilliant!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his fist into the air. "Four serial suicides and now a note, oh it's Christmas!"

Alex couldn't help but smile at Sherlock's excitement.

John looked at them in shock as Sherlock threw on his trench coat and ran out the door, Alex behind him.

"You coming John?" she asked.

"Err..." he trailed off. It was obvious that he had no idea what to make of them both.

"It's alright, you don't have to. We'll be back soon," she smiled a little disappointedly and made to follow Sherlock.

He was stood halfway up the stairs and gave her a curious look when he saw that John wasn't with her. She shrugged, and moved as Sherlock skirted past her and back into the living room.

Alex could hear a hum of conversation before Sherlock returned, John in tow.

"Off out Mrs Hudson! Be back soon!" Alex called.

"All of you?" she asked.

Sherlock turned to her,

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? No point sitting at home when there is finally something fun going on!" he shouted with glee, kissing her on the cheek.

"Look at you all happy. It's not decent," she said smiling.

"Since when did Sherlock care about decent?"

"The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

Just as Sherlock called for a taxi, Alex remembered something.

"Sherlock, I will catch you up. I need to get something," Alex rushed.

"But you're going to miss it!" _Miss me being clever, _Alex added for him.

"I'll be two minutes. I just said that I'd call Logan this morning to confirm plans. I'll catch you up."

* * *

><p>"Okay, you've got questions," Sherlock stated as he lowered his phone.<p>

" Yeah, where are we going?" John asked.

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?"

"What do you think?" Sherlock answered a question with a question. Highly annoying.

John hesitated, "I would say private detective," he said slowly.

"But?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job," Sherlock said proudly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me," he explained.

"The police don't consult amateurs!" John almost laughed.

Sherlock looked at him.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John asked the question that had been playing on his mind.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, you said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq," Sherlock explained at a hundred miles an hour.

"You said I had a therapist," John said quietly.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving," John answered.

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking," Sherlock continued.

"How can you_possibly_know about the drinking?" John asked disbelievingly.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see – you were right," Sherlock told John.

"_I _was right," John frowned, "Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs," Sherlock concluded.

"That ... was amazing," John complemented in blank shock.

Sherlock turned to him in surprise.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'," Sherlock said, smiling briefly at John before turning back to look out of the window.

* * *

><p>After reaffirming the film they were going to see with Logan, Alex hailed a taxi and in a few minutes, walked towards the crime scene.<p>

She groaned when she was confronted Donovan at the blue tape.

"What do you want?" she asked snippily.

"To do what I was asked to do, got a problem with that?" Alex replied curtly. This woman really drove her insane.

"Look, we don't need either of you here, we're doing a good enough job on our own. You'll just get in the way," she said.

"Oh, don't you have somebody else's time to waste?"

"I prefer to waste yours, much more interesting," Donovan smiled sweetly.

"Get out of my way Donovan," Alex told her through gritted teeth. She was mentally counting to ten.

"Archie! Can you remove this girl from the scene," Donovan said to a burly looking man stood next to the copper car, causing Alex to open her mouth in indignation, "She's contaminating evidence."

Alex had grown up around Scotland Yard and she had never seen this guy before, so he was new… so he didn't know who she was and honestly, Alex knew it was extremely unlikely he'd take her word for it.

Archie walked over to the blue tape.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he rumbled. He did have a powerful sort of aura about him.

"Look, my uncle is just in there, he will tell you-"

"She's lying," Donovan told Archie.

"Donovan, get out of my way, or I will hurt you," Alex warned in a low tone.

"What's going on?" Lestrade had appeared behind Donovan and was staring at her with suspicion. He held out his hand, "Come on Alex, Sherlock's up here."

Alex took his hand and blew out an angered breath.

"Sorry about that," he apologised.

"Not your fault," Alex reassured him.

They reached the landing where John was climbing into a blue suit. Alex (as she always did) did the same. She was breaking the rules just being there, she wasn't going to start taking liberties.

In the middle of the room, laid a middle aged woman clad in an alarming shade of pink. Sherlock crouched next to the body and her gaze up and down her.

"Got anything?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock motioned to Alex in encouragement.

"Go, Alex."

Alex's eyes widened. _Okay, calm down. Just do what he does. Look at err… okay clothes… clothes are a good place to start._

"Well…" she sent a pleading look to Sherlock, who in turn began to look slightly disappointed. She couldn't have that, "She's…"_think, think, think… wet hair. Has it been raining? No… hmm. "_She isn't from London. Or maybe just got back to London. Her coat collar is still wet. It hasn't been raining here for a few days."

The disappointment was quickly gone as he grinned at her, "Got there in the end."

John knelt down to examine the body at Sherlock's request. Alex had to admit, she had really taken a liking to John. He seemed somehow down-to-Earth, yet up to the challenges that life brought to the Holmes family daily and it wasn't often that you could say that about somebody.

"What took you?" Sherlock asked casually as he continued his analysis.

"Donovan, just the usual 'I don't know who this kid is, get her off the crime scene'," Alex imitated in a high pitched, nagging voice.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose, "You know I could threaten her with something or other."

Alex sighed and brushed him off. If she could deal with the hassle at school, she could deal with a pushover like Donovan. Oh god, school. She had forgotten about the fact that it was Sunday and tomorrow, she would have to endure it all over again.

John turned to them,

"Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure, possibly drugs."

Sherlock stared back at him intensely, "You know what it was, you've read the papers."

John sighed, "Well, she's one of the suicides. The fourth…?"

Sherlock took over, Alex recognising his look of one when his mind was brimming with information he couldn't wait to convey any longer, "Victim is in her late 30s. Professional person, going by her clothes. Media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night from the size of her suitcase."

Lestrade looked confused, "Suitcase?"

"Yes, suitcase. She has been married at least ten years but not happily. She has had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married. Her wedding ring, ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside, so it is regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It is not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or _who _does she remove her rings for? Not _one _lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that long, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant," John breathed in fascination, and Alex had to agree. Her uncle never failed to astound her.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asked.

"It is a bit obvious isn't it?" Sherlock asked, Alex nodding next to him, she got that one. "She had been watching the 6 o'clock news earlier and seen the weather forecast.

"It's not obvious to me," John piped up.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring," Sherlock said.

Lestrade and John rolled their eyes.

"Like Alex said, her coat- it is slightly damp, she has been in heavy rain in the last few hours- no rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her collar is damp too. She has turned it up against the wind. She has got an umbrella in her pocket but it is dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind- too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours, because her coat still hasn't dried. So where has there been heavy rain and strong wind in the last few hours?" She popped open his phone onto the met office and read out- "Cardiff."

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade questioned him.

Alex perked up, "Yeah, where is it?"

Sherlock began to sweep his gaze over the room too.

"She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing Rachel?"

Alex scoffed, "Why would she be writing an angry note in German? She's obviously English with the name Jennifer Wilson."

Lestrade put up his hands in mock surrender at the teen.

"So how do you know she had a suitcase then?"

Sherlock cleared his throat dramatically, Alex rolling her eyes, "Tiny splash marks on her right heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. You don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious- could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying overnight. Now where is it?"

Sherlock looked expectantly at Lestrade.

"There wasn't a case."

Silence. Sherlock looked up from the body.

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case with her."

Without any word of warning, Sherlock pounced to his feet, knocking over Alex in the process, and bounded down the stairs of the house, shouting like a madman.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

"There isn't a case here Sherlock!" Lestrade shouted impatiently as he helped a disgruntled Alex back to her feet.

"But they take the poison themselves, they swallow the pills. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them. It's murder, all of them. I don't know how. But they are not suicides, they're serial killings. We have got ourselves a serial killer, love those. Do you remember the one in Mexico Alex? You have to wait for them to make a mistake. Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

"What mistake?!"

"PINK!" and with that, disappeared off to a taxi.

John, Lestrade and Alex stood silent for a moment, hanging over the banister and watching the spot where the detective once stood.

"Is he always like this?" John asked eventually.

"Yup," Alex replied, popping the 'p'. "Does my head in and I'm his own flesh and blood, God help you."

Lestrade snorted softly in agreement. Another few moments passed,

"Do you reckon we should follow him?" Alex asked casually.

"I reckon so."

Alex sighed, "Welcome to the wonderful world of Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

><p>It was some time later when John and Alex turned up, his cane tapping behind him, both quietly chatting.<p>

"What are you doing?" he asked Sherlock as they walked into the living room.

"Nicotine patch."

Alex tuned out of their conversation and sat down at the desk, sighing into her arms. Only fifteen hours until she was back at that place. _That place. _It was slowly sucking the life out of her.

Maybe she could run. She had done it many times before. If she set her phone to vibrate at two o'clock the next morning, she would be able to manoeuvre her body so that she was facing up underneath the metal wiring that had been placed to deter birds from nesting. If she was facing up, she would be able to place her hands around the barbed wire so that it didn't cut her. Then she would be able run along the roof but she would have to remember to crawl when she got to the traffic lights because of the security camera that had been installed on the top of it. If she crawled, she would be able to duck behind the chimney pots and out of sight. Oh and she would have to avoid the homeless network. Damn Sherlock and his connections.

Alex sighed.

She couldn't do that again. Well, not for the simple reason of school. She stood up.

"I'm going to the library, I'll be back in about ten minutes," she announced, grabbing her coat.

"Have you got your phone?" Sherlock asked.

Alex nodded.

"Don't worry, if someone tries to kidnap me, one of Uncle Mycroft's goons will be after them before you can say 'overprotective'."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to his conversation with John.

* * *

><p>Alex shivered against the London wind and called a taxi.<p>

"Hey, the library two blocks away please," Alex smiled, holding out a fiver.

She usually walked but it was freezing and she really wasn't in the mood. The library was almost empty, only old Mrs Sanders, the elderly widow that ran the poky bookshop. The woman was currently sleeping with her head on_the Full Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Amphibians. _Alex stifled a laugh behind her hand and walked to the shelf.

Fahrenheit 451 stared at her, its orange cover glowing temptingly. Alex flipped it out of its position amongst its brothers and sisters and leafed through it. It seemed like a good choice.

Alex grinned to herself and walked over to the counter. She shook her head at the sleeping woman and prised the library stamp out of her hand and quietly stamped the book.

"Thanks Mrs Sanders," she whispered quietly. The elderly lady gave an undignified grunt in her unconscious state and turned her head the other way.

Alex giggled as silently as she could as she made her way back to the flat. She just walked, seeing as no taxis were passing by and she had gathered some warmth from being inside. The prospect of her new book also gave her a bit of a spring in her step as her mind was drifting away from the topic of school. The spring was soon lost however when she walked into the flat to find Sherlock and John panting against the wall, and Mrs Hudson close to tears in the hall.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" she asked tearfully.

"Mrs Hudson?" Alex asked in concern.

Sherlock and John whipped around to look at Alex, having not seeing her come in.

"Upstairs," Mrs Hudson sniffled.

The trio set off up the stairs, Alex keeping behind Sherlock.

They burst in to find Lestrade sat in the armchair and a dozen police officers milling around the flat, tipping out their draws and rifling through their possessions.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Alex demanded.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid," Lestrade answered looking at Sherlock.

"Could have fooled me," Sherlock muttered, "You can't just break into our flat. I thought you were supposed to be Alex's friend, or whatever you are!"

"I _am _her friend! But it doesn't take away the fact that_ you _can't withhold evidence. And I didn't break into your flat."

Alex tutted, "So what do you call this then?"

Lestrade looked around at his officers innocently, "Drugs Bust."

A squeak was heard above them. Alex shook her head in disbelief with a murderous expression on her face and stormed off up the stairs. That was the floor board in her bedroom creaking under someone's weight. She swung open her door to see Anderson of all people, going through her drawers.

"Get the hell out of my bedroom," she ordered through gritted teeth.

Anderson pointed to himself innocently, "Just doing my job, Miss Holmes."

"I told you to leave," she ordered. "Before I… I…_damn it._"

She couldn't even think of a good threat.

Anderson scoffed and picked up a giraffe toy that she had been given by Molly when she went to Cambodia.

"Put that down. You shouldn't even be here!" Alex yelled, balling her hands into fists.

"It isn't my fault that you uncle is a junkie."

"Keep talking, Anderson. This'll finally give me an excuse to hurt you." Though in truth, the notion of actually hitting him somewhat scared her.

"It's just the truth. It's only because of your uncle in the government that you aren't in care. If you belonged to anyone else, Sherlock would have been arrested and wouldn't be allowed within ten feet of you."

Alex felt a sting in her palm where she had sunk her nails in too far. One more comment. _One _more comment and she'd…

"It's no wonder your mother topped herself."

She should punch him, give him the worst black eye he'd ever had. But she couldn't. She stood there, glaring at him, hands clenched but remaining stuck to her side.

She heard someone's footsteps behind her, and knew it was her uncle.

"Get out, Anderson. Your master's calling you," Sherlock drawled in that effortless, sarcastic tone of his that Alex tried so hard, and failed, to match.

Anderson narrowed his eyes but proceeded downstairs, not without mumbling a few low profanities.

Sherlock turned to Alex who was shaking with fury.

"I've told you before to not listen to him."

"It's a bit hard when he keeps badmouthing your family, stupid idiot. I should have skewered him with my clothes pole," she suddenly knocked herself in the head. "Oh yeah, _now _I think of a threat!"

She let out an angered breath, forcing herself to calm down.

"You'd better go back down," she relented. "I can tell you can't wait to shout at Lestrade some more."

"I was a little busy stopping you from getting charged for assaulting a police officer," Sherlock pointed out as they turned back down the stairs.

Alex smiled back weakly and nodded, blowing out a final, calming breath as they emerged back into the living room.

John and Lestrade glanced at them suspiciously but Sherlock discreetly shook his head, signalling for them not to say anything.

"Help us properly and I'll stand them down," Lestrade negotiated.

"This is childish," Sherlock spat.

"Well I am dealing with a child!" Lestrade countered, "Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

"Oh, what, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock asked venomously.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything," Lestrade warned.

This time, it was Alex that spoke, "Hey, he said he is clean and he is! Give him a break. Everybody makes mistakes! Cut him some slack, all of you! He does all of your dirty work for you while you take all of the credit and then the first chance you get, you stab him in the back!"

Sherlock shot a glance at her, silently telling her to calm down.

Lestrade looked ashamed for just a moment before his professional mask was slipped back into place.

"We found Rachel," he informed them.

Sherlock whipped around to face him.

"Who is she?"

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

Alex frowned, "That doesn't make any sense. A goodbye, maybe?"

"Never mind that Sherlock Junior. We found the case," Anderson sneered, pointing to the pink case that currently lay on the table, "According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

Sherlock looked at him despairingly.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

Alex rolled her eyes.

"You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. _I _need to question her."

"She's dead," Lestrade informed him.

"Excellent, how, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be," Sherlock rattled off.

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago."

John and Alex grimaced. Sherlock looked thoroughly confused.

"No, that's ... that's not right. How ... Why would she do that? Why?"

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup – sociopath; I'm seeing it now," Anderson said sarcastically, earning himself a glare from Alex.

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt," Sherlock explained to him, as if talking to a four year old child. Sherlock often swore that Alex was cleverer than Anderson when she was three months old.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he ... I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow," John suggested.

Sherlock turned to face him,

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?"

Alex put her head in her hands as the whole room fell silent at Sherlock's words. Sometimes her uncle could be seriously thick.

"Not good?" he asked.

"_Bit _not good, yeah."

Sherlock seemed unaffected as his mind worked overtime.

"Yeah, but if you were dying ... if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" he asked John and Alex.

Alex paused to think. What would she say? Sherlock's name? Mycroft's name? Mum had said her name…

John had no such problem thinking up what he would say,

"Please God let me live."

Sherlock looked despairingly, "Oh use your imagination."

John's face was full of pain as he said, "I don't have to."

It was in that moment that Alex decided that John would fit into the family no problem. He had seen the horrors of war but still came with them to the murder scene. He was still stood here.

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever ... Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she was clever," Sherlock said as he began to pace again.

"So she's trying to tell us something?" Alex clarified.

Sherlock nodded.

Mrs Hudson took this moment to enter the room,

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here for you and Alex, Sherlock," she told him.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away," he muttered distractedly with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Sherlock!" Alex chastised and walked over to Mrs Hudson.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" she worried.

"It is a drugs bust Mrs Hudson," John told her.

Her face suddenly clouded with panic, "But they are just for my hip! They are _herbal soothers_."

Alex knew that it was only a matter of time before Sherlock exploded. 5…4…3…

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off!" Sherlock bellowed.

"What? My face is?!" Anderson exclaimed incredulously.

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back," Lestrade ordered.

The team complied but – of course - Anderson began to kick up a fuss.

"Oh for God's sake!"

"Back. Now. Please."

"What about your taxi?" Mrs Hudson piped up from her position in the doorway.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock yelled, throwing up his hands.

"Sherlock!" Alex glared at him viciously before following Mrs Hudson's retreating form down the staircase.

"I'm sorry about Sherlock. He just gets a bit… carried away," Alex apologised.

"Oh it is fine dear. I know what he can be like when he is on one of his little cases," Mrs Hudson brushed off.

"Well, I had better see to this taxi," Alex said and headed to the door.

She vaguely heard Mrs Hudson mutter about her being a good girl before she opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement where an old cabbie was leaning casually on his taxi. He was dressed in shabby clothes and his shoes were tatty and well-worn.

"Sorry, sir, we didn't order a taxi, I think you have the wrong address," Alex said.

The cabbie looked at her.

"Oh, I have the right address," he said.

"N-no, we haven't ordered any taxi," Alex told him again. "Mrs Hudson hasn't either."

"But I think you need one," he whispered in a low voice.

Alex popped her hip to the side, getting a little irritated now, "Look mate, we haven't ordered any taxi and I don't need one. There must have been a mix up."

She went to walk back in.

"Oh there has been no mix up, Alessandra Holmes."

Alex froze on the steps. She slowly turned to face him.

"How do you know my name?"

"I tell you what. You be a good girl and wait patiently in my taxi for your uncle to come and I will tell you everything. If you don't, well I am afraid that lovely landlady of yours might have to be dealt with," he said off-handedly. "Mrs… Hudson, wasn't it?"

"Who _are _you?"

"Come on, niece of the great Sherlock Holmes. Don't tell me genius skipped your generation."

"Shut up. And how do you know about my uncle?"

He regarded her for a low moment, then shook his head, somewhat amused, "You really are slow, aren't you?"

"Hey, I…" she paused. Things were beginning to click... _Who hunts in the middle of a crowd_? "…It was you. Th-the suicides. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Good girl. Now do as you are told," he patronized.

"You going to murder me, too?"

"You say that quite casually."

"It's been said quite a lot. Kind of starts to lose meaning. And I'm not coming with you."

"Yes, you are."

"No."

"Yes."

"_No."_

"Just get in the cab. Really don't want have to hurt this Hudson lady."

Alex let out a frustrated breath but complied nonetheless, climbing in the back seat, "You know letting me go would really help your case with my uncle. He doesn't take kindly to murderers stuffing me into their cars. He might be a little less negotiable."

"Is that right?"

"That's if you _don't _hurt me."

He narrowed his eyes at her, choosing to ignore her comment, "Give me your phone."

Alex handed it over without complaint. She watched as the cabbie brushed his thumb over its screen and shoved it in his pocket. He turned on his heel and entered 221B.

Well, a day off school might be in order after this. That's if she survived. Small technicality.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: WholockianAuthor, and I-Am-The-TARDIS for reviewing!<strong>

**Thanks so much reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	3. A Study in Pink - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Double update because I have the day off school! :)**

**Enjoy:**

John was sat at the laptop tracing the dead woman's phone when shock flooded through him. His fingers froze hovering over the keyboard.

"Sherlock…" he started.

Sherlock ran over to him and looked over his shoulder at the laptop screen.

"What is it? Quickly, where?" Sherlock asked frantically.

The screen zoomed in and settled on-

"It's here. It's in 221B Baker Street," John revealed, more than a little disconcerted.

Sherlock frowned and straightened up, "How can it be here? How?"

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere," Lestrade reasoned.

Sherlock shook his head.

"What and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?" he muttered in disbelief.

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back," John told Lestrade.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim ..." Lestrade called out to his team who all set to work immediately trying to find the phone.

Sherlock zoned out.

_'Who do we trust, even if we don't know them?'_

_'Who passes unnoticed wherever they go?'_

_'Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?'_

The pieces clicked as Sherlock turned to the doorway and saw the taxi driver standing stock-still, staring at him. In his hand was the pink iPhone. He typed on the screen and Sherlock's phone buzzed.

_COME WITH ME_

Sherlock tried to fight the smile that threatened to show. Finally, the wag reveals himself. The cabbie turned and made his way back down the stairs.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John asked in concern.

"What? Yeah, yeah, I-I'm fine," Sherlock said distantly.

"So, how can the phone be here?" John asked.

"Don't know," Sherlock said, still watching the spot where the taxi driver had stood.

"I'll try it again," John decided as he took his own phone out of his trouser pocket.

"Good idea," Sherlock said, beginning to slowly head out of the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long," Sherlock assured indistinctly him as he walked down the stairs.

"You sure you're all right?" John frowned.

"I'm fine!" Sherlock shouted from downstairs.

Sherlock stood in the open door of 221B and looked at the taxi driver. The name Jeff was embroidered into his shabby cardigan.

"Taxi for Sherlock 'olmes," he said.

"I didn't order a taxi," Sherlock replied, smiling slightly.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one," Jeff countered.

"You're the cabbie, the one who stopped outside Northumberland Street," Sherlock said. "It was you, not your passenger."

"See? No-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer," Jeff smiled sinisterly.

"Is this a confession?" Sherlock asked, taking a few steps forwards, his eyes darting back towards the windows of his flat.

"Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise," Jeff promised, the smile not dropping from his lips.

"Why?"

"'Cause you're not going to do that."

"Am I not?" Sherlock almost laughed.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. 'olmes. I spoke to 'em ... and they killed themselves. An' if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing," Jeff leaned closer towards Sherlock, "I will never tell you what I said."

"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result," Sherlock supposed.

"An' you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about? Oh, and then of course there is your niece."

Sherlock's head snapped towards Jeff.

"Leave her out of this," he ordered sharply.

"Oh but Mr Holmes, she is already in it," Jeff laughed and moved away from the cab window to reveal Alex hidden behind her black curls, silently watching the scene unfold.

Sherlock stiffened at the sight of her.

"Strange little thing ain't she."

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth.

"Let me take you for a ride."

"So you can kill me too?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr 'olmes. I'm gonna talk to yer ... and then you're gonna kill yourself."

Jeff opened up the taxi door and sat in the driver's seat.

Sherlock hesitated before grimacing and sliding into the seat beside Alex. Jeff gave a triumphant grin in the rear view mirror and began to drive.

He turned to his niece, about to say something, when she interrupted him.

"Sherlock, I'm fine," she whispered.

He paused for a moment, then nodded and gripped her shoulder briefly. She gave him a small smile of thanks.

"How did you find me?" he asked Jeff.

"Oh, I recognised yer, soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock 'olmes! I was warned about you and your little Alessandra. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!" Jeff raved with a genuine smile.

"Who warned you about us?" Sherlock asked, determined not to be side tracked by Jeff's praise.

"Just someone out there who's noticed the two of you," Jeff brushed off.

"Who?" Alex demanded.

Sherlock gave a slight shake of the head, silently telling her to be quiet.

"Who would notice us?"

"You're too modest, Mr 'olmes," Jeff said, catching Sherlock's eye in the mirror once more.

"I'm really not."

"You've got yourselves a fan."

"Tell me more."

That's all you're gonna know…" Jeff paused," ... in this lifetime."

* * *

><p>The cab carried on for a little longer, all the while in silence. Finally, they pulled up outside two big buildings lined up next to each other. Alex recognised the place. After a few moments of wracking her brain, she finally remembered. She had come here for a science exhibition once.<p>

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked.

"You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are," Jeff smirked.

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. I came here once with my school. Why here? What's special about this place?" Alex asked.

"Oh Cinderella speaks does she? Very good Miss Holmes," Jeff praised. "It's open; cleaners are in. One thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" Sherlock interrogated.

Jeff reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny black gun and pointed it at Sherlock. Alex's eyes widened as she looked to her Uncle in panic.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes in disappointment.

"Oh dull."

"Don't worry. It gets better," Jeff assured him.

Alex motioned with her head to show Sherlock how ridiculous he was being, but he simply glanced out of the window casually.

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

"I don't. It's much better than that," Jeff said as he lowered the gun and Alex let out a breath.

"Don't need this with you two, 'cause you'll follow me," and with that, Jeff walked off into the college.

Sherlock looked to Alex.

"You know what happens now," he told her.

She huffed exasperatedly and dragged herself out of the taxi, "Can you try not to get yourself shot, please."

_"It's fake," _he mouthed.

"Sure?"

He gave her a look.

"Okay, okay," she began to relax. "Good. Come on, then."

They followed Jeff through the corridors until he lead them into one of the classrooms with long wooden tables and plastic school chairs. Alex cringed at the familiarity as they all sat down.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took us away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs Hudson will remember you," Sherlock pointed out.

"You call that a risk? Nah," Jeff pulled out one small bottle containing a few capsules out of his cardigan pocket, "_This…_is a risk."

Alex frowned.

"Ooh, I like this bit. 'Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this," Jeff grinned, clearly enjoying himself immensely.

He then reached into his right pocket and pulled out another bottle, identical to the one that stood already on the table.

"You weren't expecting that, were yer?" Jeff grinned, "Ooh, you're going to love this."

"Love what?" Sherlock asked, a crisp edge to his voice.

Jeff leaned back lazily in his chair, "Sherlock and Alessandra 'olmes. Look at you two! 'Ere in the flesh. That website of yours: your fan told me about it."

"Our fan?"

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius and teaching your niece an' all. Keeping tradition goin' that's what I like to see. 'The Science of Deduction.' Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting 'ere, why can't people think? Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?" he rambled furiously.

"Oh so _you're_ a proper genius too!" Sherlock said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Jeff scoffed.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man drivin' a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

"Okay, two bottles. Explain," Sherlock told him, getting down to business.

Alex leaned forward in curiosity.

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die," Jeff explained.

"Both bottles are of course, identical."

"In every way."

"And you know which one is good and which is bad."

"Of course_ I_ know!" he laughed.

"But we don't?" Sherlock asked.

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the ones who choose."

"Why should we? We've got nothing to go on. What's in it for us?"

"I 'aven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you two choose, I take the pill from the other one – and then, together, we take our medicine," Jeff smiled sinisterly.

Sherlock grinned.

"Remember of course that if you pick the wrong bottle, you not only die, but you leave Alessandra with me. And I don't exactly have a reputation for being very good company," Jeff reminded him.

Sherlock's smile dropped, "Let Alex leave, and then we'll play."

"Hey, no–!" Alex started indignantly.

"Oh, is it Alex? I thought you preferred Alessandra. Why didn't you correct me darlin'? I'm sure you want to stay, don't you? You wanna see your uncle play," Jeff mocked.

"It's not a game. It's chance," Sherlock scoffed.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr 'olmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move."

Jeff slid one of the bottles to Alex and Sherlock's side of the table.

"Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one. Are you ready to play yet Mr Holmes?"

"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance," Sherlock announced loudly.

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

Alex shook her head. This was madness.

"Still just chance," Sherlock said stubbornly.

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck."

"It's genius. I know 'ow people think. I know 'ow people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my 'ead. Everyone's so stupid – even you. Or maybe God just loves me."

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin in his 'thinking pose' and leans forward onto the desk.

"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie."

"So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why? Most people go bungee jumping or something if they want a thrill," Alex said.

Jeff just looked down at the bottles, ignoring her.

"Time to play, Mr Holmes."

"Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no-one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old but the frame's new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurt. But there is more Alex, isn't there," Sherlock turned to her.

Alex frowned and stared at Jeff more deeply. Her head tilted to the side in concentration,

"Clothes, Alex," Sherlock hinted. He was back into teaching mode.

"They're clean… but no offence, but a bit tatty. Scratch that, very tatty and worn."

"Recently laundered but everything he is wearing's at least ... three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead," Sherlock continued. "And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?" he laughed. His smile dropped, and his eyes widened as he let out a breath, "Of course."

Alex looked at him. She hadn't picked up on his deduction.

"Three years ago – is that when they told you?" he asked softly.

"Told me what?" he snapped.

"That you are a dead man walking."

Alex snapped her attention to Jeff. He suddenly seemed so much less murderous… almost frail.

"Aneurism," he tapped the side of his head, "Right 'ere. Any breath could be my last."

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people," Alex said, trying to understand.

"I've_ outlived_ four people. That's the most fun you can 'ave on an aneurism."

"No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children," he deduced.

"Ohh," he looked down at his shoes, "you're good aren't you."

"But how?"

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing," Sherlock contradicted.

"You'd be surprised. I 'ave a sponsor. For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think," he said.

"What lunatic would sponsor a serial killer?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Who would be a fan of Alessandra and Sherlock Holmes? You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man ... and they're so much more than that," Jeff said instantly.

"What do you mean 'more than a man'? An organisation? What?" Sherlock asked.

"There's a name no-one says, an' I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter," he nods down to the bottles on the desk, "Time to choose."

"What if we don't choose either? We could just walk out of here," Sherlock reasoned.

Jeff sighed and took out the gun again.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head."

"I'll have the gun, please," Sherlock said.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun."

"You don't wanna phone a friend?"

"The. Gun," Sherlock said confidently.

Jeff's lips formed a thin line as he pulled the trigger and a small pitiful flame poked out of the muzzle.

"I know a real gun when I see one," Sherlock said smugly.

Alex smirked.

"Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case," Sherlock smiled, "Come along Alex," he said as he stood to leave.

Alex followed him with a spring in her step. Well that could have gone a lot worse.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out?" Jeff asked from his position at the desk.

_Of course, it couldn't have just ended there could it? _Alex thought bitterly.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to I-Am-The-TARDIS for reviewing! Thanks so much!<strong>

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	4. A Study in Pink - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Edited 4/8/2014**

"Of course. Child's play," Sherlock said.

"Well, which one, then?"

Sherlock opened the door for Alex but showed no signs of leaving himself.

"Which one would you 'ave picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you? Whether little Alex there would have had to watch you die" Jeff asked, baiting him.

Sherlock's face hardened.

"Come on, play the game," Jeff beckoned.

Sherlock looked to Alex who was staring back at him with pleading eyes. He bent down and whispered in her ear.

"Alex, go down to the main road and call Mycroft, he will pick you up and keep you safe."

"I am not leaving you here, you will bloody kill yourself!" she hissed back.

"Alex, I know what I'm doing. Now go," he told her forcefully.

She opened her mouth to protest but Sherlock silenced her with a glower.

"Trust me, I'll be fine. Now go and call Mycroft outside," he told her with an air of finality.

Alex knew that it would be pointless to try and argue with him now. Once Sherlock had his mind set on something, he wasn't going to back down. Bit her lip, a mixture of anger and nervousness.

"_God, _sometimes I hate you."

"I know."

He opened the door for her and pushed her out, relieved when she finally went, but not without a more hesitation.

Sherlock turned on his heel to face Jeff. Time to play the game.

* * *

><p>Alex chewed on her nails, running a hand through her hair. She knew Sherlock could take care of himself much more than anyone else could, especially in situations such as these, but it didn't ease her worrying. He had had that look in his eye, when he had deduced Jeff. That hungry, thrilled glint. He was so wrapped up, and that was when he got reckless.<p>

In her preoccupied state, she managed to take a wrong turn and ended up in a different block, one she didn't recognise. The corridors were twisty and she vaguely remembered going up stairs, and now, she was lost.

"Just call Mycroft," she mumbled to herself, her voice soothing in the silence.

She slipped her hand into her pocket, but it was empty. She patted her jeans pocket. Flat.

She groaned. Jeff had already anticipated that and had taken her phone when she had gotten into the cab.

"Some Holmes you are," she muttered, staring at her reflection in a classroom window.

Sherlock or Mycroft would never get lost like this. No, they wouldn't have _left_ in the first place. They would have smooth-talked their way out of it, stood in front of Jeff, holding one of the bottles with alarming platitude. And here she was, lost in a school while running away to call the other one to come and get her.

She shook her head at herself and turned to walk back the way she came to try and find the stairs, when she heard the gunshot.

Her heart dropped.

Her jaw went slack.

Her shoes squeaked on the polished floor as she turned on her heel.

"Sherlock…"

For a moment, her legs wouldn't cooperate; it was as if they were nailed to the ground. Her blood froze. She must have stood stoic for at least three minutes. She willed them to move, and they broke free of the invisible bonds, sprinting back to the classroom. She threw the double doors open, causing them to smash into the wall behind her with a tremendous bang. Her eyes scanned the room for signs of life, but there were none.

Wait… was this the right classroom? It looked pretty similar.

_Oh yeah, a total Holmes, you are, _she snapped at herself again.

Sirens were already wailing outside, blue lights illuminating the windows and falling onto the table tops. Hurdling over one of the long column tables, Alex ran to the window and saw John stood next to an ambulance. He must have worked out where we were and told Lestrade. He moved aside as a stretcher was wheeled out of the doors of the college.

The face was covered.

She knocked furiously on the window, and John must have heard her as he turned toward the school, frowning. She waved her arms around to catch his eye. His gaze finally fell on her. He smiled at her and beckoned her down.

"Sherlock?" she mouthed at him, panic etched onto her paler than usual features.

John, unable to make out what she was saying, just continued to motion to her to come down. Pulling away from the window in frustration, she regressed back into the hall at a run. She ran past all of the classrooms until, as she was passing one, she saw fleetingly, a horde of forensic workers just setting up.

She skidded to a stop and ducked into the classroom.

"What happened here?" she asked, causing heads to turn towards her.

"Whoa, you shouldn't be here," one of the men in a blue forensic suit pointed out, coming towards her. "You could contaminate the evidence."

"Who died?" Alex demanded. "I saw the stretcher, now tell me, who was it?"

"We don't know his name-"

"Then describe him!" Alex yelled angrily.

The man scowled at her and grabbed her arm, dragging her out.

"Get the hell off me and tell me who it was!" Alex spat, wriggling to get free.

"I'm taking you to the Detective Inspector," he told her grimly. "And he won't be happy that you're here."

"I'll go to him myself! Get off me!"

The man didn't give in, believing her to be trespassing teenager. Which was technically true, through no fault of her own.

He pulled her through the doors and over to the police car where Lestrade was stood with his back to them.

"Sir, I found this girl-"

Lestrade turned and immediately spotted Alex.

"Alex! Where've you been?" he asked eyeing the forensics man. "What've you done now?"

The man let her go and continued back inside to carry on.

"Lestrade, there was a body, who was it?" her voice was shaking, he noted.

He put a hand on her shoulder, "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Who was-"

"Alex, I thought I told you to ring Mycroft," a deep voice rumbled angrily from behind her.

She turned slowly, not believing her ears. There he was, her idiotic uncle stood there with a scowl on his face.

"Why didn't you –?" Sherlock was suddenly cut off as Alex's hand connected with his face in a slap.

Lestrade stifled a laugh at the outraged look on Sherlock's face.

"What the hell was that-" another slap stopped him again.

As the third was about to fall, he caught her wrist.

"What are you playing at?!" he exclaimed obliviously.

"I thought you were dead!" Alex cried. "I heard a shot… and then a saw a body, and then I couldn't find you. D'you have any idea what that's like? All it took was for you to find me or shout that you were okay!"

Sherlock sighed, "I thought you were with Mycroft."

"Yeah, well I would be if Jeff the late Cabbie didn't take my phone," she mumbled, blushing as she saw some of the officers looking their way. "I'm going to see John; I believe some people want a word with you," she brandished a warning finger at him. "I'm not finished with you."

Sherlock turned in the direction she was looking and groaned as he was suddenly swarmed by paramedics and officers alike. John gave her a smile as she stood next to him.

"I could kill him sometimes. Anyway, you okay?" she asked. "Up for more?"

John avoided the question, looking back to the ambulance, "Sherlock doesn't look best pleased, does he?"

Alex nodded her head in agreement. She paused before speaking, "I thought he was dead. I-I suppose you gathered that from the scene I just made."

The corner of John's mouth twitched, "Just a little."

"He's so oblivious to everything, yet he notices everything at the same time. He's infuriating… but I couldn't live without him," Alex smiled faintly.

"How come you live with him?" John asked. "Why don't you live with your parents?"

Alex shrugged, "I never knew my father and my mother committed suicide when I was six. Uncle Sherlock was the first choice. I wouldn't be with anyone else."

"I'm sorry about your mum," John said sincerely. "So I guess we're flatmates now."

Alex giggled, "It all happened a bit fast, didn't it?"

John snorted, "You're telling me."

"You'll be fine as long as you check what's in the fridge before you eat something from it. Sherlock's an arse half the time, but he'll be the best friend you'll ever have… though he probably won't say that to your face."

"He's certainly different."

"You don't know the half of it."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading,<strong>

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	5. Logan Baxter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Nice long chapter for everyone tonight. The next one should be out tomorrow ****J**

Sherlock was sat in the back of an ambulance with (much to his dismay) a vibrant orange blanket draped around his shoulders, watching Alex chat with John. They seemed to be getting along well. That made things easier.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me," Sherlock said as Lestrade walked over to him.

"Yeah, it's for shock," he told him.

"I'm not in shock."

"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs," Lestrade grinned, causing Sherlock to scowl.

"So, the shooter. No sign?" Sherlock changed the subject.

"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but... got nothing to go on," he admitted.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Sherlock grinned.

"Okay, gimme," Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service and nerves of steel..." Sherlock trailed off looking at John who was stood innocently behind the police tape, laughing quietly with Alex. His genius mind clicked.

"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me," Sherlock said forcefully.

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked in bewilderment.

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, err, the shock talking," Sherlock lied, beginning to walk towards John and his niece.

"Where're you going?" Lestrade shouted over to him.

"I just need to talk about the-the rent."

"But I've still got questions for you."

"Oh, what now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Sherlock snapped in frustration, "And I just caught you a serial killer ... more or less."

Lestrade sighed, "Yes you did. Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go," he relented.

Sherlock walked over to John who was still stood calmly talking with the girl.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful," John said as they began to walk together.

"Good shot," Sherlock praised him quietly.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window," John said innocently.

"Well, you'd know."

John looked up at his new flatmate. Alex glanced between them, smiling as she understood. Well, John Watson would be up for the challenge, indeed!

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case," Sherlock told him.

John cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, of course I'm all right," John reassured him.

"Well, you have just killed a man."

"But he wasn't a very nice man," John countered.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock agreed.

"Frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!" Sherlock said and John and Alex burst out in giggles.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!" John protested, a large grin on his face.

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Keep your voice down!" John hissed as Donovan looked at them suspiciously, "Sorry – it's just, um, nerves, I think," he said to her.

"Idiot," Alex chided Sherlock, but a smile on her face nonetheless.

John turned back from Donovan to face Sherlock, "You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?"

"Course I wasn't," Sherlock said. "Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No you didn't. It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever," John said, hitting the nail directly on the head.

"Thank you, John! See, I'm not the only one who thinks you do!"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot," John and Alex spoke in unison, looking at each other in surprise before laughing.

"Dinner?" Sherlock announced, amused by their response.

"Starving," John agreed.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."

Just as John opened his mouth to dismiss the fact, he suddenly pointed forwards, grabbing the attention of Alex and Sherlock.

"Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about."

"Man?" Alex frowned, not being present for that conversation.

She understood however, as the black car that had featured so much in her childhood pulled up in front of them and Mycroft climbed out elegantly.

"Relax," Alex told John. "He's harmless." _Welllll._

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?" Mycroft said to his brother.

"Hello, Mycroft," Alex greeted, rolling her eyes at the hostility already rising.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked in annoyance.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you both," Mycroft replied, not fazed by his brother's coldness and smiling at his niece.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your 'concern'."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?" Mycroft asked in exasperation.

"Oddly enough, no!"

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Alex and Mummy," Mycroft said.

"I upset them? Me? It wasn't me that upset them Mycroft!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"I'm standing right here!"

"No, no, wait. Mummy? Who's Mummy?" John asked in utter confusion.

"Mother – our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft," Sherlock informed him with a hint of disgust on his face. "And Alex's other uncle. The least favourite."

"Sherlock," Alex warned.

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock taunted Mycroft.

"Losing it, in fact."

"He's your brother?!" John exclaimed, still not quite over the fact.

"Of course he's my brother."

"So he's not ..."

"Not what?"

"I dunno – criminal mastermind?"

Sherlock glared at Mycroft venomously as he said, "Close enough."

"For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government," Mycroft smiled.

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic."

Alex put a hand to her head, "Will you two ever just _get along?_"

"I think you know the answer to that, dear," Mycroft smiled sadly.

"Don't act so innocent, Mycroft, it's half your fault as well."

"Wait-" John interrupted. "So, when-when you say you're concerned about him, you actually _are_ concerned?"

"Yes, of course."

"I mean, it actually _is_ a childish feud?" John looked disbelievingly at the grown men.

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners," Mycroft replied, watching Sherlock's retreating form.

"Yeah ... no. God, no!"

"It leaves much to be desired," Alex sighed, shivering at the thought. "Occasionally Grandma and Granddad insist on it, though."

"Alex!" a voice shouted behind them.

The girl looked behind her to see Lestrade jogging over. He handed her her phone.

"I thought you might want it back," he smiled.

"Cheers, Greg."

She turned her phone back on and paled when she saw her texts.

**Alex, where are you? – LB**

Logan Baxter, her best and only friend.

**I'm at the meeting point now. – LB**

**Alex? – LB**

**For God's sake, where are you? – LB**

**Text me back. – LB**

**People are starting to look at me now because I've been sat here on my own for the last forty minutes. – LB**

**Why aren't you here? – LB**

**If you aren't here in ten minutes, I'm going home. – LB**

"Ohh sh-" Alex quickly looked at her uncle's raised eyebrow. "_Shoot._"

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm late for the cinema; I was supposed to be there forty minutes ago. I've got to go," she kissed Mycroft on the cheek. "Bye, Mycroft. See you later tonight, John."

He gave a small wave as she pocketed her phone and ran up to Sherlock who was stood at the road's edge, waiting for John.

"Where are you off to?" he questioned.

"Cinema with a friend," she replied quickly. "See you tonight."

She briefly kissed him on the cheek also and took off in a sprint. He watched her round the corner and knew without a doubt that she would turn up to the cinema covered in sweat and wheezing.

John, after failing once again to make conversation with the beautiful Anthea, ambled over to Sherlock.

"Chinese for two, then?"

* * *

><p>By the time Alex skidded to a stop at Nelson's Column, Logan was nowhere in sight.<p>

"Damn it," she cursed softly and dropped onto the concrete steps.

"Alex?"

Looking up in surprise, she was ecstatic to see Logan looking back at her.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. Sherlock decided to pull a stupid stunt and I had to leave, but then I didn't really leave and then I thought he was dead and I kind of freaked out but turns out he _wasn't _and our flatmate's really awesome and he saved him so I was kind of wrapped up with that and–" Alex stood as she began to profusely apologise.

"It's fine!" Logan cut her off before she rambled for the rest of the night.

"I suppose the film's finished?" she guessed dejectedly.

Logan nodded, "Don't worry about it."

She could tell he was still annoyed with her; he wasn't as relaxed as he usually was and was angled slightly aware from her.

"Well… since we can't watch the film… fancy a trip down memory lane?" Alex asked with a smile, trying to make up for her unpunctuality.

Logan raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

Alex took his hand and led him over to the pavement edge, holding out her hand for a taxi. A few minutes later, one mounted the curb and she pushed a bemused Logan inside.

"Cromwell Gate Nursery, please," Alex asked the driver.

The cabbie frowned and turned to face her.

"Are you sure? Y'know it won't be open."

"Oh, yes, it's just a pickup point," Alex lied and relaxed back into the seat as the cabbie began to drive.

He looked out the corner of his eye to Alex, a small smirk resting there. She leaned over and whispered to him,

"I may not be completely up to scratch with deductions and all that, but lying is my forte. You should know that," she grinned turning to look out the window innocently.

Logan chuckled next to her, making her smile the way he always did. She had always been close to Logan. Closer than the average friendship.

The taxi juddered as it pulled up onto the curb again, outside the nursery. It was actually a primary school _and _a nursery, but most just knew it as the nursery. Logan climbed out first, holding the door open for Alex and paying for the taxi.

"I'd have paid, you know. Mycroft wouldn't mind. He monitors my account. "

Logan shrugged, waiting for the taxi to pull away before taking out his phone and texting someone.

"Who are you talking to?" Alex asked.

"Just one of my sisters, telling them I'll be late," he looked almost sad as he pressed the send button. Alex didn't want to pry, so left it alone.

Alex nodded, "Right, give me a boost."

She put her hands on the top of the stone wall of the nursery, and stood on Logan's interlocked fingers. He pushed her up so that she was perched on top. She manoeuvred around and pulled Logan up after her. They walked along the wall and dropped onto the lower one of the playground.

"Brings back memories," Logan laughed, pointing over to the sandbox. "That's where we first met."

Alex nodded, "I was three and you were five, and you were my buddy-partner."

"I remember being so angry with the teachers because I was the only boy with a girl buddy, then I met you and realised that you were the least girly in the school."

Alex threw her head back and giggled madly, "We made the Murder Journal over there didn't we? Mum found it and went barmy."

Logan smiled softly, "She was great, your mum."

Alex nodded, "Yeah… I miss her. You know how I feel, not having a dad around and all."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Yeah but, it's not really the same.

"You know you're always welcome at the new flat. I'll deal with Sherlock and John. I know how your mum and sisters argue."

"Cheers, Alex… who's John?"

"New flatmate, he seems really nice."

They continued to talk about this and that, focussing on Sherlock's recent cases and the pregnancy scare of one of their classmates. The sky was beginning to go dusk, the moon now visible.

"Waxing crescent?" Alex asked.

Logan shook his head, "Waning."

"Ah, that's why you're the astronomy geek... We should probably go, anyway. I'm sorry we didn't spend as much time together as we'd hoped."

"This has been better than a film," Logan said as he hopped down from the wall, helping Alex down after him. "It had a pretty bad Rotten Tomatoes rating anyway."

They linked arms and wandered down the street lined with streetlamps. It was useless trying to catch a cab from Cromwell's, it was too secluded. You had to go further into the city centre. The teens were conversing when a rustle was heard from the alleyway next to them. Alex frowned.

"Hello?"

The streetlamp over the alley was broken, making it completely dark. Alex could barely make out the figure of a person hunched over, moaning as if in pain. It was probably a homeless person. Perhaps part of Sherlock's homeless network?

"Are you okay, sir?" she asked, and Logan grabbed her arm.

"H-h-help… me…" a masculine voice croaked.

"What's wrong? Come into the light so I can see you," Alex said gently.

"Can't…" the voice panted. "My leg…"

Biting her lip, the maternal – or stupid – side of Alex took over as she shook of Logan's arm and stepped into the alley.

"Where are you?" she asked, groping around in the dark with her hand.

Her fingers brushed against a head and knelt down next to him.

"Hey, were are you hurt? What happened to –" before Alex could carry on, his hand shot out and wrapped around her neck. She let out a strangled scream.

"Alex! Oi, get off!" Logan, taking a stab in the dark – quite literally – grabbing hold of the man and pulling him off Alex.

The man scarpered, sprinting off before they could get a look at his face. Logan led Alex into the light.

"Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly.

She rubbed her neck in pain, "He took my necklace, he took my bloody necklace."

A small bead of blood trickled down her neck where the chain had dug into the skin. Logan swallowed.

"I'll get it back," he said, letting go of her and beginning to run. "Stay there! Just, don't move!"

"Logan! It doesn't matter, Logan!" she called him back fruitlessly, he was too engrossed.

Sighing heavily and still rubbing her neck, Alex didn't have time to scream as a sudden pressure appeared on her arm and her bag was wrenched from her grip.

"Hey!" she yelled, but that man, too had ran off.

"For God's sake!" she shrieked in anger, "Can't I have one night off?!" before sprinting after her own target.

It all seemed extremely suspicious and very planned. Get rid of the boy by stealing something of little value. Then , once he was out of the picture, the accomplice swoops in and takes the bag from the defenceless – or not so defenceless in this case – girl. You could bet on it these days that teenage girl would have a smartphone in her bag, worth a few pounds.

Alex skidded around the corner, the man's hair disappearing into the crowd of the night. She pushed past and weaved through; earning herself profanities and shouts aimed her way. She finally broke away from the crowd of tourists and had a clear path to run.

"Give up!" she shouted. "Just drop the bag!"

But the bag didn't drop, and the man disappeared down onto the Underground. Alex pushed herself forwards, and got to the top of the stairs leading down to the station, when a sudden force pushed down on her back. She, of course, lost her balance and tumbled, bouncing off every step and rolling to the bottom. Her ankle was twisted painfully.

The man with her bag had fled. The man who had pushed her was obviously in on the plan. Alex wondered as she pulled herself to the side of the tunnel painfully, how many people the gang had stolen from.

Slipping off her shoe, Alex flinched as she saw her ankle already beginning to swell. She cringed and let her head fall back against the tiled tunnel.

"Are you alright?" a voice asked from next to her.

Alex's eyes snapped open and jumped as she saw how close the voice was. A man was kneeling next to her, his eyes filled with compassion and sympathy.

"Yeah… yeah, I fell. I'm okay. Someone took my bag."

The man shook his head in disgust, "Horrible people. I'm Jim. I'm just visiting from Birmingham, so I don't really know where the nearest hospital is," he admitted apologetically.

"Oh, don't worry. I'm fine. My friend will find me," Alex told him, and herself.

"Well, do you want me to help you back up the steps Miss…" the man trailed off expectantly.

"Laura," Alex instantly answered, _stranger danger, _flashing in her mind, almost making her laugh.

"Okay, Laura, I'll help you to the top."

Slipping her shoe back on, she allowed herself to be pulled up and leaned on the man as he helped her. Once they were at the top, he helped her over to a bench nearby. Alex collapsed into the bench with a painful gasp. Jim rifled in his briefcase and retrieved a slightly squashed sausage roll.

"Here, it was for my daughter, but you look like you need it more," Jim smiled.

"No, really, I couldn't," Alex politely declined. Allowing someone to sit her down under full lights in the middle of a crowd was one thing, accepting food was another.

"Sorry, I could get you something –"

"No, honestly. Thank you, you've been very kind."

He patted her shoulder, "No, problem, I hope your friend gets here soon."

He waved once and walked back down into the Underground. Alex groaned as her ankle gave a painful throb. _She _hoped Logan got there soon.

It was ten minutes later that Logan, wild eyed and furious, spotted Alex on the bench at Nelson's Column. He jogged over, exhausted from running.

"I told you to wait there!" he yelled. "Why didn't you listen to me? If you'd have just stayed put–"

"It was a set up, I couldn't help it," Alex said.

Logan sighed angrily, "What happened then?"

"Once you ran off, someone took my bag. I got pushed down the steps at the Underground, and I'm pretty sure my ankle's sprained.

"I'll get a cab."

* * *

><p>Mrs Hudson tutted to herself as the knock on the door interrupted her late night Connie Prince re-run. She pulled herself out of her chair and opened her door to Alex, who was stood with one foot lifted up off the ground and a hand on the wall to keep her balance.<p>

"Oh dearie, what happened?" Mrs Hudson fretted.

"Someone stole my bag and pushed me down a flight of stairs," Alex said. "I've hurt my ankle and I'm sorry to ask, but could you help me up the stairs?"

"Of course! Oh, come here dearie."

She looped an arm around the woman's shoulders as they both hobbled up the stairs to 221B.

"If your hip's hurting, you don't have to do this."

"It's been a lot better since the soothers, I'm fine today."

Alex knocked on the door and Sherlock opened it with a furious look on his face.

"Where've you been?! I've been calling you!"

"Oh, stop all of that shouting, Sherlock. The poor dear's had a tumble," Mrs Hudson pushed Alex into Sherlock's arms as if she were a parcel. She blushed as John stood from his chair, ever the doctor.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked as he led her over to the sofa.

Alex relayed the night's events.

"Did you get a good look at them?" Sherlock asked.

Alex shook her head.

"Could I have a look at your ankle, please?" John asked, kneeling down and removing her shoe.

She nodded her consent, wincing as he pressed on a particularly tender spot, "Ow!"

"Sorry," he apologised absently. "I'll just get a bandage."

He straightened up and walked into the kitchen to retrieve the medical kit, returning and wrapping the bandage tightly around the foot expertly.

"It isn't broken, but badly sprained; it's going to be sore for a few days. Strict rest," John ordered sternly, but with a smile in his eye.

Alex had figured that out on her own, "I think I'm just going to go to bed, I'm knackered."

As she stood, she let out a hiss of pain and Sherlock's hand shot out to steady her. He helped her up to her bedroom and let her drop onto her bed, her legs swinging off the edge.

"Mycroft will no doubt be of some use to find out who they are, but most likely they'll just be some ordinary people trying to make some money. I'll get you a phone tomorrow and you're to keep it in your pocket instead of your bag."

"It's not even broken," she said, looking down at her ankle in disappointment. "Shame, I could have signed my cast with swear words and driven Mycroft into a lecture about appropriate language."

Sherlock smiled slightly, "Do you just exist to make problems for me?"

"I thought you liked problems," Alex countered.

There was a pause.

"Alex, about tonight–"

"Don't worry about it, I overreacted. I was scared, but that's what we do, isn't it? I mean, I can't see you doing anything different, and neither can you. I understand, that's what I'm saying. Just next time try to let me know you're okay before I see a body bag, 'kay?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Go to sleep, Alex. I'll see you in the morning. That is if you're up before mid-noon."

"But what about school?" she asked.

"I think we can forget about it on this occasion," Sherlock smirked, before leaving the room.

Alex smiled sleepily, awkwardly changing into her pyjamas and slipping under the covers. She didn't know that she wouldn't be getting much sleep that night.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**HUGE thank you to Ariella for reviewing!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	6. The Blind Banker - Part 1

**AN: I have decided to update chapters slightly shorter now, in favour of getting them uploaded every night/every other night. If you think this is a bad idea, please don't be afraid to tell me so :).**

_As soon as she saw the room, she knew she was dreaming, and she immediately knew what about. Everything was the same, only darker, like someone had tinted the colour in her eyes. Dragging her feet, she knew where she had to go, where she always had to go, and turned into the living room to see Jeff sat on the arm of her sofa, fiddling with the TV remote. _

_"Quaint little house you got yourself 'ere, isn't it?" he said._

_"Mum didn't want a big house."_

_Jeff stopped flicking through channels and looked around, "So this is where you grew up. Until you were what, six?"_

_"Yes," she said tightly._

_"That's when it happened?"_

_"Yes."_

_Alex closed her eyes. It was starting. She knew it was. Suddenly she wasn't stood up anymore, she was laid down in her bed, covers pulled tightly up to her chin. Without any control of her movements, she kicked them off, and began to walk to the landing. It was dark. _

_She knew. Oh God she knew._

_Would tonight be different? Would her mind be kind to her and let her wake up before she saw it?_

_But no. She turned the corner. She was at the top of the stairs. Her mother was at the bottom. They made eye contact. Her feet weren't touching the floor. Her hands were tight around the rope dangling from the ceiling. And Alex felt herself begin to cry._

_Somehow through the blur of her tears, her bare feet touched gravel. The sound of wheels over the stones made Alex blink. A gurney. She was outside the college. The ambulance was there, but there was no Sherlock stood with a blanket. At least not an orange one. This one was white. A white sheet pulled over his face._

_She needed to pull it back, to see his face. She knew it was him but she needed to see, she needed to see! But as her hand reached out to pull the sheet away, there was a sharp tug, and she fell._

Alex woke up with tears down her face. Her breathing was frantic and shallow, as it always was upon waking from her recurring nightmare. Or rather, memory.

"Just a dream… Just a dream…" she muttered, running a hand through her curly black hair.

But it could easily have not been 'just a dream'. Once again, Sherlock had found himself on the fine line between survival and being murdered. And where would that have left Alex if he'd strayed the way she thought he had?

Deciding that she definitely wouldn't get anymore sleep that night – or for a few nights after, she reckoned – Alex untangled herself from the duvet and walked into the kitchen.

The flat was silent and mostly in darkness, only the dim lamp from the kitchen giving a soft glow of light. Alex waddled over to the sink, her bare feet tapping rhythmically on the tiles. She ran the cold water tap on low and splashed some of the liquid on her face.

"It was just a dream, stop being so stupid," she berated herself quietly.

"A dream about what?"

Gasping in shock, Alex spun around to the sound of Sherlock's voice and saw him standing fully clothed in the doorway of the kitchen.

"God, you frightened me," she muttered, trying to get a grip. Of course he would be up.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Wow, I can see how you became a detective," Alex said sarcastically before taking a breath. "It was just a stupid nightmare, nothing to get worked up about."

"You seem pretty worked up," Sherlock noted. "Shaking hands, red rimmed eyes, hair sticking up at all angles; need I go on?"

"Please don't," Alex sighed wearily, sitting down at the kitchen table, Sherlock mirroring her.

"So what was it about," Sherlock asked, refusing to be side-tracked.

"You… Mum… just the usual," Alex smiled in a pathetic attempt to reassure him.

He grimaced and stared at her with those misty grey eyes that matched hers and her late mother's.

"Can I… um… do anything?"

Alex shook her head, then rethought, "Actually, you could maybe help me take my mind off things. You want to play that game I always pestered you to play? That word association thing?"

Sherlock sighed, "If I must."

"You go first, then."

"Um… Stupidity," Sherlock said.

"Anderson," she replied quickly.

"Thick."

"Custard," she said.

"Lestrade."

"What?" Alex laughed.

"Well, they rhyme," Sherlock defended.

"Okay… Banana," Alex started off.

"Apple."

"Strudel."

"Lestrade."

"Sherlock, how the hell does strudel make you think of Lestrade?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Lestrudel. Lestrudel and Custard."

Alex giggled uncontrollably.

"That has to be his new name!" she laughed.

The rest of the early hours of the morning carried on pretty much the same.

Lesandwich.

Leststreetlight.

Lestruggle.

Lestrange.

Lestratosphere.

You get the idea.

John had appeared halfway through their game, woken up by Alex's hysterical laughter emitting from the kitchen.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" he muttered sleepily.

"Lestrangle," Sherlock continued.

"It sounds like you are sneezing!" Alex wailed with glee.

John shook his head at the pair and began to make breakfast.

"There you go, pancakes," John served to both of them, "With Lestrawberries."

This sent another peal of laughter as Alex, John and (surprisingly) Sherlock began to eat their breakfast.

"Whoa, you are actually eating, is it Wednesday?" Alex asked, still smiling broadly.

Sherlock made a face at her.

"What, you only eat once a week?" John asked warily.

"The body is only transport. Digestion slows me down too much."

Alex rolled her eyes. She had heard that phrase so many times before that it was actually painful.

"You can take this week off school by the way, Mycroft sorted it," Sherlock mentioned to Alex.

She punched the air.

"Get in! I'm going to get ready, are either of you coming to the shops with me?" she asked as she hobbled over to put her plate in the sink.

"I will," John offered.

She gave him a smile and flounced off to have a shower.

As soon as she left, the bright smile that was on Sherlock's face disappeared.

"John, get a paper while you are out. And probably some tea bags as well," he said in his cool voice, all warmth that it had gained from Alex completely gone.

John stared at him. It was disconcerting how quickly his friend's mood could change.

"Right, well. I will be off then," John said uncomfortably.

Sherlock didn't respond, he just slipped his fingers under his chin and entered his mind palace.

John scoffed in disbelief and proceeded to help Alex down the stairs. Her ankle felt better after sleeping and she hoped that it would be back to normal by the end of the week.

"What do you need then?" John asked, looking for an excuse to start a conversation.

"Oh just this and that," she said evasively, her fingers curled tightly around Sherlock's phone that she was borrowing until her stolen one got replaced.

John nodded as they entered the supermarket.

"I will meet up with you in about ten minutes," Alex told him.

He looked hesitant to let go of her arm.

"John, I'm hardly going to get mugged again in a supermarket am I?"

She made her puppy dog eyes for good measure. John relented.

"Ten minutes, no later," he said sternly. "Really don't want to go back and tell Sherlock you've gone missing."

Alex nodded seriously and broke out into a grin as soon as his back was turned. She pulled out her phone.

**I'm in the bread isle- AH**

There was no reply.

**Logan? –AH**

Alex frowned. Logan always answered her texts.

Suddenly, she felt arms wrap around her shoulders and hands cover her eyes.

"Guess who it is?" they said.

"No idea," Alex deadpanned and turned around to face her best friend.

"Where the hell have you been? I have been texting you like crazy!" he gushed.

"My phone got stolen, remember? It's probably on its way over to its new owner by now. Give me your phone and I'll add my new number."

He handed her his Blackberry, "Oh yeah, I forgot about the phone. I'm pretty sure I pulled a muscle trying to get the necklace back last night. Yeah… I completely forgot about that," he trailed off, looking troubled.

"Honestly, your memory is almost as bad as mine," Alex chuckled, leaning back on a pillar.

"How's the ankle? What's the verdict?" Logan asked, him too leaning back.

"Sprained. You know that new flatmate I was talking about last night? Well, he's an ex-army doctor. He took a look at it. He's here with me now if you'd like to meet him," Alex suggested.

"Sure," Logan hesitated momentarily. "He isn't like Sherlock is he?"

Alex laughed at the nervousness on his face, "No, he's much friendlier. One Sherlock is enough in the world, never mind in one flat, thank you very much."

Logan nodded in agreement. Sherlock or Mycroft had never approved of him, even when they were little, and they didn't bother to pretend otherwise.

Alex walked to the end of the isle and scanned down, "I think he said he was… There he is."

Logan followed her finger and nodded, he looked normal. That was a good start and a sharp contrast to Sherlock. He followed Alex as she led him over.

"Hi John, this is my best friend Logan, who I was out with last night. Logan, this is John," Alex introduced.

They shook hands, both smiling politely.

"So will I be seeing you a lot around the flat?" John asked.

"That depends if I can get past Sherlock. He doesn't really like me very much. I'll be round in the next few days though," he turned to Alex. "I'd better be getting to school. It was nice meeting you, John."

"You too, Logan," John tilted his head respectfully.

Alex walked, or hobbled, with Logan to the doorway of the shop.

"Have a good day, then," Alex wished him, a smug grin on her face.

"Yeah, yeah. You wait until I have a powerful uncle, then you won't be so cocky," Logan mocked playfully.

"Go on, you muppet."

Logan turned and proceeded out of the shop and through the car park, waving goofily as he went. Alex shook her head fondly and felt someone brush past her.

John, without the shopping.

"John!" she shouted.

He slowed down to allow her to catch up. He had a murderous look on his face and Alex's heart sank.

"What's happened?" she asked worriedly.

"Bloody chip 'n' pin!" he exploded.

Alex bit her lip and tried not to smile.

"Oh, let it out," John sighed.

Alex howled with laughter as John continued to brood while they made their way back to Baker Street. Inside the flat, they found Sherlock sitting reading a book innocently. A little too innocently for Alex's liking.

"You took your time," he said, his eyes still glued to the book.

"Yeah, we didn't get the shopping," John mumbled.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I had a row, in the shop, with a chip-and-PIN machine."

Alex stifled her smile.

"You ... you had a row with a machine?" Sherlock questioned as he lowered his book slightly.

"Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse. Have you got cash?" John asked.

"Take my card," Sherlock told him with an amused smile, nodding towards the kitchen.

As soon as John's back was turned, Alex turned to her uncle with a raised eyebrow.

"What," he mouthed.

"What have _you _been doing?" she mouthed back.

"You could always go yourself, you know. You've been sitting there all morning. You've not even moved since I left," John interrupted their silent conversation, "And what happened about that case you were offered – the Jaria Diamond?"

"Oh, not interested," Sherlock shrugged.

John went back to rummaging through Sherlock's wallet while Alex gave an amused smirk.

Sherlock sent her a questioning look when she came over and whispered into his ear,

"I would hide the machete better next time if I were you, Uncle dear."

Sherlock slammed his book shut and kicked the hilt with his heel so that it slid further under the chair.

Alex just shook her head and picked up her phone.

**Hey Logan- AH**

His reply was instant.

**Yo bro, woz gannin' on lyk m8- LB**

Alex raised an eyebrow at her phone, wondering what world she had just fallen into.

**Sorry, I'm bored. What are you up to?- LB**

**Oh just sitting at home. Can't really move around too much with my leg so I am stuck watching The Jeremy Kyle Show for the rest of the day I reckon. Woo! -AH**

**That sounds almost as thrilling as the maths test I'm in the middle of. Mr Bridge is glaring at me every few minutes. I am slowly starting to consider plan 234 in the murder journal- LB**

Alex bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

**Yeah, but where are you going to get a budgie in the Maths room? AH**

**Okay, plan 165?- LB**

**Do you really think that you can pick a lock that quickly on your own?- AH**

**Oh, I know, 34! LB**

**There is no way that you would be able to hold your breath for that long- AH**

**Fine, I will have to endure it… for now. Great, now he's walking over. Enjoy Jezza Kyle- LB**

Alex smiled and snapped her phone shut, sparing a thought for her lesson bound friend. She was just starting to get comfortable when Sherlock announced, "I need to go to the bank. Alex, up for it?"

"Count me in," Alex replied, pulling herself up from the chair.

The street was heaving with activity as usual as they approached Shad Sanderson Bank. The foyer was impressive to say the least and John and Alex couldn't help but marvel as they climbed up the escalator.

"Yes, when you said that we were going to the bank…" said John.

Sherlock just carried on his brisk pace and approached the reception desk.

"Sherlock Holmes," he told the woman.

The trio were then shown to a room by a secretary where a man sat behind his desk. He rose as they entered and shook hands with Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sebastian."

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" Sebastian asked with a grin.

Sherlock looked back at him with dislike and Alex could feel the temperature drop in the room.

_Bad history there then…_

Sebastian looked towards her.

"Don't say that she's yours?" he said incredulously.

"She's my niece," Sherlock glared, and Alex's own dislike for the man was increasing by the second.

"Of course. Silly of me to think of _you _as a father! And who is this?" he asked, nodding towards John.

Alex saw a flash of something cross Sherlock's face at Sebastian's words and Alex brushed his arm briefly.

"This is my friend, Doctor John Watson," he introduced.

"Friend?!" Sebastian exclaimed.

"Colleague," John corrected as they shook hands.

"Right," Sebastian said, peering at John curiously, "Right."

He looked at Sherlock as if to say, _you actually have a friend_.

Alex mentally counted to ten to stop herself from lashing out. She notice John also pursing his lips in distaste but she was slightly angry at him for correcting Sherlock. They _were _friends weren't they?

"Well, grab a pew. D'you need anything? Coffee, water, juice?"

"No thanks," Alex said through gritted teeth at his annoyingly patronizing gaze.

"No? We're all sorted here, thanks," he told the secretary.

She nodded and left the room as Sebastian threw himself into his chair.

"So, you're doing well. You've been abroad a lot," Sherlock commented.

"Well, some," Sebastian admitted.

"Flying all the way round the world twice in a month?"

Alex grinned into her hand.

Sebastian just pointed and laughed at Sherlock as John frowned.

"Enlighten us, what do you find so amusing?" Alex said, already exasperated with the man.

"Right. You're doing that thing," Sebastian turned to Alex, "We were at university together. Your _uncle _here had a trick he used to do, not that you'd know..."

Right, that was it-

"Yes, as you already know, I am his niece so it is highly unlikely that I (in my fourteen years of knowing Sherlock) have never seen him do his deductions. Notice how I said _deductions _not party tricks. And he obviously knows you from university; he wouldn't willingly hang around with someone like you if he could avoid it, I can practically feel my IQ dropping."

"But-"

"Yes, I know what you are about to say 'then why's he here now!' the only reason is that you have a case for us," he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, of course you have a case for us, you two clearly can't stand each other so you wouldn't have called of you didn't need help. Now shut up, get on with it, and stop wasting our time!"

Sebastian looked wide eyed at her,

"Well… you can definitely tell that she is related to you," he replied, sounding a little dumbstruck.

"Thanks for the compliment," Alex snipped back.

Sherlock smirked.

"Right- um- anyway. You are right Miss Holmes, we have had a break in," Sebastian recovered and led them over through the trading floor and through to another room, "Rather weird."

* * *

><p><strong>Was that okay?<strong>

**Please review. It only takes a second and makes my day!**

**-Abby**


	7. The Blind Banker - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything to do with the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Quick update now because I'm off sick :(**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Sherlock gave her a proud smirk. Oh, that girl was fantastic when she was angry._

_"Right- um- anyway. You are right Miss Holmes, we have had a break in," Sebastian recovered and led them over through the trading floor and through to another room._

"Sir William's office – the bank's former Chairman. The room's been left here like a sort of memorial. Someone broke in late last night," Sebastian informed them.

"What did they steal?" John asked.

"Nothing. Just left a little message."

Sebastian held his security card against the reader on the door and it clicked open. Hanging on the plain, dull white wall behind a large wooden desk, stood a framed painted portrait of a man in a suit, probably Sir William, Alex deduced. On the wall to the left of the portrait someone had sprayed graffiti in fluorescent yellow paint. The paint looked vaguely like a number 8 and across from the graffiti, on the eyes of the man in the portrait, an almost horizontal straight line had been sprayed. Thin lines of yellow streaked down from it as the paint had dripped. Sebastian led the way towards the desk. He stepped graciously aside to allow Sherlock and Alex a clear view of the wall.

Alex decided that it was time to practice her memory skills. One of the things that used to drive Sherlock up the wall was Alex's really quite appalling memory. He had been trying to get her to build a mind palace of her own so that she would remember things and have them neatly stored away, but every time that he sat her down and tried to get her to concentrate, she would just lose patience and give up.

They then led through to a computer desk where the footage from the previous night's break in had been recorded.

"Sixty seconds apart," Sebastian told them, flicking between 23:34:01 which showed the paint on the wall and on the portrait, and a minute earlier – 23:33:01 – when the wall and portrait were still clean.

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting."

They were then taken to the reception area and Alex leaned over yet another computer screen.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet," the banker said.

"That door didn't open last night," Sherlock clarified.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures. This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way," Sebastian said, reaching into his inside breast pocket and pulling out a cheque.

Alex rolled her eyes, of course it would come down to money.

"I don't _need_ an incentive, Sebastian," Sherlock almost hissed as he put a firm hand on Alex's shoulder and steered her back to the room with the 'message'.

John watched them go and turned back to Sebastian.

"He's, uh, he's kidding you, obviously. Sh-shall I look after that for him?"

* * *

><p>Alex was back in the room and was staring intently at the graffiti. Sherlock watched his pupil carefully.<p>

"Think Alex, what is this?" Sherlock asked.

"Um… Art? No it can't be art, it is just a few lines and why would someone put it in a bank of all places? A protest?" Alex asked hopefully.

"Why can't it be a protest Alex?" Sherlock sighed.

"I don't know!" Alex groaned.

"Alex…" Sherlock warned.

"Fine. Okay, if it was a protest, and they were good enough to dodge around security like the person who did this, they would do it to more extreme lengths than just vandalising a wall," Alex muttered.

"Good," Sherlock approved, "So what is the only other option?"

"I am guessing boredom isn't it? 'Cause right now, I feel like vandalising a wall," she murmured.

"Are you purposely trying to annoy me Alessandra because you are succeeding!" Sherlock said.

Ouch- full name.

"Sorry, so the only option could be that it was left as a warning to someone."

Sherlock nodded.

"And how do we find out who it is for?" he prompted.

"Uh… I'm sorry, I really don't know this time," Alex admitted.

Sherlock walked over to his niece and put his hands on her shoulders. He turned her around so that she was facing away from him and towards the desks in the room.

"Look around. What do you see?"

Alex did as she was told, she had already used up her petulance leeway earlier,

"Desks, chairs, windows, people, calendars, clocks, pillars-" she immediately stopped, "It's the pillars!"

Sherlock smiled proudly and allowed her to face him again.

"And how did you know that?"

"Because you had your hand on my shoulders and when I said pillars, your right hand constricted meaning that you were holding back information," she replied with a smug smile. "Derren Brown taught me that. That and the fact that you get ridiculously overexcited with things like this."

Sherlock sighed at her, "You are the most difficult pupil I have ever had the displeasure of teaching. Go on, redeem yourself. Figure out who is was meant for."

Alex grinned and jogged over to the first desk, beginning to have fun (even if her ankle was starting to dully ache). First, she had to find out who would be able to see the graffiti from their desk, so she took the left side and Sherlock took the right. She narrowed it down to a few possible desks. How was she able to work it out from there? She sneaked a look at Sherlock. He looked down at an imaginary watch on his wrist and grinned when he saw recognition pass over his niece's face.

"So who could the message only be for?" Sherlock asked her as they met in the middle.

Alex slipped a nametag out of its holder on the desk in front of her and read it out.

"Edward Van-Coon," she concluded.

Sherlock gave her a satisfied smile and put the nametag in his coat.

"Come on."

* * *

><p>After the imperative task of rescuing John from Sebastian, the trio made their way back down the escalator.<p>

"Two trips around the world this month. You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him," John said casually.

Sherlock smiled but neglected to comment.

"How _did_ you know?"

"Did you see his watch?"

"His _watch_?"

"The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it," Sherlock replied with a smug smile.

"Within a month? How'd you get that part?"

Sherlock gave Alex a look.

"New Breitling. Only came out this February," she said. "I don't know how you manage to be so up to date with fashion when I never see you taking an interest in it."

"Okay. So do you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?" John suggested.

"Got everything we need to know already, thanks. That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and ..." Sherlock began, waving his hand expectantly for Alex to finish.

"…they'll lead us to the person who sent it," Alex droned dully.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John asked.

"Pillars," Alex said simply.

"Pillars and the screens. Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot," Sherlock continued.

"Does it?" John questioned as they exited through the revolving doors.

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight. Not many Van Coons in the phonebook. Ah, taxi. Alex, Mycroft wants you to have tea with him, the French minister called in sick from their meeting so Anthea will pick you up," Sherlock shouted over his shoulder as he and John barrelled into the taxi.

"How did you-?" her phone buzzed-

**Hello dear, French Prime Minister has fallen ill. Are you free for Anthea to call by and pick you up?-MH**

Alex laughed.

**Mycroft, you know that I am free; you have at least seven security cameras on me - AH**

**Anthea is fifteen minutes away - MH**

Alex settled herself on the curb to wait and pulled out her phone to text Logan.

**Hey Lo', how is school going? Did you survive maths? -AH**

His reply was slightly delayed.

**Sorry 'bout that, I sit at the front in History so Mr Gladstone is watching every move I make. I am currently texting you from my pencil case- LB**

**Is he the prison guard with the enormous eyebrows?-AH**

**That's the one. Anyway I heard that you have got the rest of the week off you lucky sod! The cheek of it, off solving crimes while I rip out my hair doing trigonometric equations!-LB**

**Haha, well I'll be back soon and we can bunk off again – AH**

**We'll remember to dodge that camera in the tech corridor this time. I can't afford to be caught again– LB**

**I think my uncles have given up caring – AH**

**Wish they had done that night at Clover's Footbridge. Then they might still like me – LB**

**Don't be stupid, they wouldn't like you anyway. You're a threat – AH**

**What? – LB**

**You're an older boy and I'm a younger girl, both over the age of thirteen. Deduce – AH**

**Oh. – LB**

There was a few minutes of silence, which was very uncommon between the two, who could type faster than they could breathe. Concerned, Alex rang his mobile, knowing it would be on silent and he would see the screen light up. It was engaged. He was talking to someone. She frowned.

Then, the words _Logan is typing _appeared at the top of the screen. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Then disappeared. Then finally:

**Wouldn't be so bad. – LB**

Alex almost dropped her phone. What the hell was _that _supposed to mean? Logan was her… her brother! Her best friend! How on earth could he even _joke _about that?

**Well, I have to go. Unless there's something you desperately need to tell me? - LB**

She stashed her phone in her pocket, still looking stricken, barely noticing when the carb pulled up beside her. It was only when Anthea knocked on the window that Alex got in and sat opposite her.

"Hi, Anthea," Alex said distractedly.

"Hey kid. What's up with you?" she asked peering at Alex's troubled face.

"Nothing."

Anthea raised an eyebrow, "Really? Something's got you looking like you were just told the Earth's flat."

Alex sighed resignedly, "Just friend stuff."

"Friend stuff, or _boy_friend stuff?"

Alex gave her a longsuffering look, burying the cold feeling inside of her, "Anthea, really?"

"Come on, you know I've been winding your uncles up about you dating pretty much since you were born. Who is it?" Anthea asked, on the edge of her seat

"It's not what you think."

"Anyone I know?"

"I-I no, I mean, well, stop talking about it! There isn't an _it _to talk about!"

Anthea regarded her closely for a moment, "I think you're lying. I think it _is _someone I know. Why won't you tell me?"

"Like I said, it's complicated."

"Oh," Anthea grinned. "So there is an _it._ Is it Lee? Lee's pretty good looking now."

Alex shook her head, "I haven't spoken to Lee for years. And he's also gay."

Anthea's face darkened, "It isn't Raz, is it? Because if it is, I don't think I could convince Mycroft not to lock him up in a South American prison or something."

Alex snorted, "No way."

Anthea leant back in her seat, a thoughtful look on her face, "If it's not Lee, definitely not Raz, it can't be Logan–"

Alex's eyes flickered away from her.

Anthea's eyes widened, "It's Logan!"

"Shut up!" Alex hissed. "NO! No, definitely not. He was joking! I'm being irrational! There's no way anything could ever–"

"Aw, that's so sweet," Anthea cooed. "You two grew up together! He was your first friend. He's going to be your first boyfriend, too!"

"Stop, just stop. I-I don't – I'm not… Logan's… _Logan_," Alex finished pathetically.

"You don't think he likes you," Anthea said knowingly.

"No! I know he likes me and I like him, but just in the strictly sibling, friendship way. It-it would be _incest!"_

"You're good at hiding how you feel."

Alex gave her a murderous glare, "Shut. Up. Now. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"So how are you going to proceed?" Anthea ploughed on, completely oblivious.

"I don't know!"

Anthea shrugged, "You're young, just do what you want. Tell him how you feel, and if he says he doesn't feel the same way, shrug it off and carry on as normal. I've done it before plenty of times. Unless you want me to do it?"

"No!" Alex said immediately. "No way, you keep your pretty little mouth shut."

Anthea just laughed.

"I'm glad you think my personal life is so amusing," Alex muttered.

Anthea smiled and sobered up, "On a serious note, what are you going to tell Sherlock and Mycroft?"

"Nothing. Because there's nothing to say! You're blowing this _way _out of proportion. It was one text, and he's probably regretting saying it now anyway."

"But if something _did _happen, would you tell Sherlock and Mycroft?"

"No, are you mad? If I ever… you know… _date," _she cringed. "There is no way I would ever tell them. At least until I'm married."

"You know that won't work. They know everything about you, you think they won't notice if you're suddenly dating? And given that they're ridiculously overprotective, it isn't going to sit well with them, let me tell you. My dad threatened to shoot the first person that asked me out," Anthea said.

"Great," Alex rolled her eyes.

"Just talk to Logan. If things go well, tell Sherlock, preferably after Logan has left the flat. He won't appreciate you keeping secrets from him. He'll take it better coming from you. I'll deal with Mycroft," Anthea assured her.

Alex turned completely serious, "Look at me right now. I do _not _want a romantic relationship with Logan Baxter. In any way. Ever. And right now I'm in a bit of an awkward position and I would very much like to just pretend it didn't happen."

Anthea narrowed her eyes at her, "Really?"

"Really."

She sighed, "Okay."

Alex smiled in relief, "Thank you."

"But I'm still going to wind you up."

"Anthea–"

"You'd better go," she swiftly interrupted. "Mycroft will get suspicious if we're sat here in the car talking for ten minutes."

Alex looked out of the window and sighed. They had of course reached Mycroft's house. She walked across the gravel drive, the stones crunching beneath her feet as she pushed open the door and walked down the hallway. She turned left to the living room and knocked.

"Come in," Mycroft called.

Alex pushed open the door and walked over to the table next to the fire, where to tea cups and a teapot stood.

"Hey, Mycroft," she greeted, giving him a smile.

"Hello. Sorry to interrupt you on a case," he said with an insincere smile, and Alex knew he was being sarcastic.

Alex was used to it, and found it rather amusing, "It's fine. I'm sure they can cope without me. How are you?"

"Busy."

"I'm pretty sure you'll be busy until the day you die."

"What a thrilling prospect."

She laughed, "Anyway, my ankle's feeling a bit happier. Damn sight better than it was."

"I see that living with Sherlock has had an impact on your language," Mycroft commented.

"Oh lighten up," Alex rolled her eyes.

Her uncle just shook his head.

"You don't know how lucky you are to be my niece. Anyone else who talks to me like that would be deported," he muttered.

She gave him her best cheesy grin and laughed, turning as she heard the door opening. Anthea stepped in, and Alex's smile dropped.

"Sir, Miss Chatterjee will not be returning to work for another two weeks, so Mr Harvard will have to take care of the Novel Case paperwork," she informed him.

"Oh… why is Miss Chatterjee unable to come in?" Mycroft asked curiously.

"Honeymoon sir, she got married yesterday. She is officially now Mrs Dobbs."

"Marriage, how tedious," he sighed.

Anthea looked at Alex with a sibling-like evil smirk.

"She's quite young. When are you thinking of marriage, Alex?" she asked innocently.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Uh… not for a long time yet," she said.

"That'll be a good day. You'll have to find someone whose surname fits with Alex. Maybe one beginning with 'B' would fit. Alex… Barrington? Baker? Bax-"

Mycroft's face was getting darker and darker.

"Very early to be thinking of that!" Alex cut her off. She was sure that the next name would be Baxter, Logan's second name. She was going to kill her.

"Anthea, can you please,"_ piss off somewhere else. _"Give us a minute," Alex said forcefully, eyes flashing.

Anthea nodded and retreated out of the room but not before,

"Might be too early for marriage, but perfect time for a boyfriend! This is where it starts!" she threw over her shoulder and shut the door.

Alex glared daggers at the door. Oh, Anthea was going to get it! Alex cringed as she turned back to her Uncle and saw him staring intently at her with that vacant look that Sherlock sometimes got.

"Mycroft... um, are you… still alive?"

He cleared his throat, "Have you got a–"

"No." she answered quickly, blushing horribly as she began formulating a plan to murder Anthea.

_Oh God, shut up Mycroft. If there was ever a time that you needed to shut your mouth, it's now._

"Good," he said.

"Ha-ha, yeah, no kidnapping people and taking them spooky warehouses or big black cars Mycroft," Alex laughed uncomfortably.

Just then, both Mycroft and Alex's phones buzzed. She took it out and choked on air,

**May not be getting married, but she ****_is _****of the age to bear children ;) –A**

Alex cringed and dared a glance at her Uncle who had received the same text. His lips were pressed together in a very thin line. She practically heard him mentally counting to ten.

"Mycroft, seriously I… um… haven't… won't have… not f-for a long time… okay never… yeah," she stuttered.

Mycroft continued to stare at a certain spot on the mantelpiece. Alex sucked in a breath.

"Well Uncle, very nice of you to invite me for tea. It was lovely but I have got to dash. I have a… thing. Called murdering your PA," she muttered as she gathered up her coat and headed towards the door. Mycroft continued to stare at the mantel.

"Bye," she said lamely.

No answer.

Alex backed out of the study and closed the doors.

"Anthea, prepare for your slow and painful demise," Alex muttered as she slipped into the black car. However, she was surprised to see that the woman wasn't there.

"Hey, where's Anthea?" Alex asked the driver.

"Something about taking out life insurance or something," he said over his shoulder.

Alex nodded in satisfaction. _Better start making your will now_, Alex thought as they drove back to Baker Street. Alex nodded her thanks to the driver as she climbed out of the car and walked over to her flat. It was then that her mobile buzzed.

**Sherlock wants to talk to you. He's waiting for you, go straight to 221B – MH**

Alex's eyes widened in horror. Seriously!?

She dialled Anthea's number in her phone and hid around the corner out of sight from the flat.

"_Hello, Alex!" _she answered brightly.

"Anthea," Alex began in a deadly clam voice, "I am going to hunt you down and kill you as slowly and painfully as I can. You have a heart of goddamn ice."

"_Whoa, cool it. It was only a bit of fun. He is probably over it now. And I am not the one with the heart of ice! I work for that one."_

"Mycroft is not 'over it' because he has rang bloody Sherlock and told him to give me 'the talk'! I swear to God Anthea, I am going to murder you!" Alex yelled, earning herself a strange look from a passer-by. Alex gave them a small, forced smile and they warily walked away.

There was silence on the other end of the phone until Anthea burst out in peals of laughter, forcing Alex to hold the phone away from her ear.

"It isn't funny! Oh, and now I am probably going to get sectioned because some guy just heard me saying how I'm going to kill you!" Alex hissed.

"_Oh this is fantastic. Sherlock giving you 'the talk'!" _she burst out in another round of laughter.

"Shut up and bloody well help me!" Alex begged.

"_Sorry kid. You are going to have to deal with it. Goodbye Alex and good luck!"_

Alex growled in frustration when Anthea hung up. _Better get this over with, _she thought grimly. Maybe Mycroft was bluffing? Yeah, he was totally bluffing.

Reassured by this thought, Alex opened up the door to the flat and proceeded up the stairs. All hope vanished however when she saw Sherlock stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back. John was sat in his armchair, looking like he was fighting laughter.

Alex cleared her throat and Sherlock swung around to face her.

"Hello," he said stiffly.

"Hi," she replied meekly.

There was an extremely awkward pause, in which John announced that he was going to make tea.

"Mycroft just rang me," Sherlock began.

"Oh really?" Alex said almost desperately.

"Yes, about a… thing, a conversation… that occurred while you were with him."

"Right," Alex coughed.

"He, _we,_ think that… you are… us to _talk… _about, um…" Sherlock trailed off. Under different circumstances, it would have been amusing to see Sherlock looking so flustered.

"Sherlock, please don't do this," Alex begged, "I know everything, honestly I do! It is obvious that we both don't want to do this, so why go through it?"

Alex could tell that Sherlock was tempted. Very tempted.

"And," she continued, sensing that her Uncle was about to break, "If we waited a few years, it would be fresh in my mind wouldn't it? I mean, I am not likely to be having sex for a few years from now, am I?"

Sherlock flinched at the prospect but relented, "Agreed."

Alex sighed loudly in relief and collapsed onto the sofa.

"Thank you, Sherlock," she said sincerely.

"Hmm, just as long as you know that you are now not allowed to be within a fifteen feet radius of any boy your age."

Alex shook her head, then took out her phone and texted Anthea.

**Crisis averted, how is Mycroft?- AH**

**Recovering-A**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So how was that, just thought I would add a little humour to cheer myself up more than anything. Seriously feeling down with this stupid bug...<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, I-Am-The-TARDIS, and Ariella for reviewing!**

**Please review**

**-Abby**

**x**


	8. The Blind Banker - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Here's the next chapter after many, many rewrites.**

**Enjoy:**

Alex had printed out the photographs of the graffiti near and across Sir William's portrait for Sherlock so that he could stick them around the mirror above the fireplace. He was sitting on one of the dining chairs with his back to the dining table. He had his fingers tucked under his chin in a prayer position and was staring at the photos. They were both clad in their coats as the heating wasn't working. Again.

Alex was seriously bored. She didn't understand any of the graffiti or any of that. All she could comprehend was the fact that Edward Van Coon had been murdered. Oh, she was so bored. She was slowly going insane.

"Sherlock-"

"Shush."

Alex huffed.

"Sherlock-"

"Shush!"

Alex tried not to smile.

"Sh," she said.

Sherlock nodded.

"Erlock."

He took a deep breath.

"Sherlock," she sang.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sher-lock!"

Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"Yes, Alex?"

"I'm bored," she complained.

"Go down to Scotland Yard," he muttered distractedly.

"Lestrade's away so there's only Donovan and Anderson," Alex complained.

"So?"

"I said I was bored, not desperate."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued to concentrate on the case. Alex decided that it was time to try a different tactic. She pulled up a chair and sat opposite her Uncle, resting her head on her arms and staring directly into Sherlock's face. She had to admit, he did pretty well at first. He didn't even look back at her, just kept his eye trained on the pictures. But, even the great Sherlock Holmes had to crack sooner or later as his eye flickered towards his niece for only a second. Alex almost snickered. His eyes began to dart back between her and the pictures, so much so that Alex was dizzy just by watching them.

"What do you want!" he finally cracked.

"Just to see how long it took," Alex said casually as she tucked the chair back and checked her watch, "Seven minutes, pretty impressive, 'Locky."

Sherlock visibly shuddered, "Not that horrible nickname," he muttered.

"Come on, I made it up when I was three, I was very proud of it," Alex defended.

"Yes, you made that blatantly clear when you wrote it in _Sharpie_ across my scarf."

"Well, yeah but I did cheer you up afterwards by writing 'Crofty on Uncle Mycroft's umbrella," Alex grinned.

Sherlock gave a faint smirk as he recalled the memory.

"Yes, you were a rather amusing child, but you are an insufferable teenager, now go to your room."

"Why?" she whined.

"Because I'm trying to solve a murder!"

Alex grumbled but obeyed and trudged up to her room, which was opposite John's. She collapsed onto her bed and snuggled under the covers. The boiler was on the blink again and it was bloody freezing in the early autumn air. She wrapped the duvet around her body as tight as she could to try and keep in some heat. That was when she heard a knock on her window. She jumped up and ran over, her hair swishing madly behind her. Hanging onto the window pane on the outside was Logan. Alex felt her muscles constrict.

"Open up then," he mouthed through the glass.

Alex moved her hand to the handle when she saw the thin, almost invisible wire stretching across it and she remembered what Anthea had said last time she had snuck out with Logan.

_"'Night Kid," Anthea said from the doorway, "Oh and don't open the window, it has an alarm on now."_

Her eyes widened.

"Logan, I can't open the window, it's locked," she mouthed to him.

"Since when did _you_ have trouble picking a lock?" he mimed back.

"Look, just go to the front door, but don't knock. I will be down in a minute."

Logan nodded and swung (as he had done many times before) of the pane and down the drainpipe. Alex picked up her baking book that she had gotten for Christmas last year and went down the stairs into the living room.

"I'm going to Mrs Hudson's since no one bothers to talk to me here," Alex sniffed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her dramatics.

"What have you got in your hand?" he asked.

"Baking book. She wanted to borrow it to make that shortbread for her sister," Alex lied smoothly.

She actually held her breath until Sherlock nodded, taking her word for it and turned back towards the photos.

Alex took off down the stairs and bypassed Mrs Hudson's and went straight through the hall to the front door. Sure enough, Logan was stood shivering outside.

"What took you so l-"

Alex silenced him with her hand and nodded up towards the living room.

"Is Sherlock in?" he whispered.

"Yeah. So we need to be quiet while we get up to my room," Alex said seriously. Logan didn't answer but just stared.

"Logan?"

He tilted his head to over her shoulder and she turned to see Mrs Hudson leaning against the banisters with an amused look on her face.

"Hey, Mrs H! Logan was just dropping off some homework and… pick up a book," Alex started.

Mrs Hudson just nodded along mock seriously.

"And get some… oh please don't tell Sherlock," she pleaded.

"Of course not dear, oh and could I borrow that cookbook, I am thinking of making some shortbread," Mrs Hudson asked.

_I am just psychic, _Alex thought as she handed over the book and led Logan up the stairs to the flat. They walked lightly on their feet, not daring to breathe. She held up her hand as they reached the door to the living room, signalling for Logan to wait. He nodded and Alex composed herself before entering. Sherlock looked up in surprise.

"Mrs Hudson wasn't in," Alex grumbled convincingly. "I just left the book at her door."

"Oh what a shame, what are you going to do to quell your boredom now?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"Don't pretend to care Sherlock," Alex said, but with a smile to let her uncle know that she was only joking, "In answer to your question, I am going to overdose on chocolate and coke."

Sherlock sighed, "Don't tell Mycroft I let you eat all that or he will send me to one of those parenting class things like last time. That was an absolute disaster."

"Well maybe if you didn't tell the pregnant woman's husband that the baby wasn't his, or show that six year old the headless monk, it might have gone okay," Alex commented from where she was stretching to reach the sweet cupboard.

"He thought it was cool," Sherlock defended.

"Yeah, he did, but his two year old sister didn't!"

"I don't think I have ever heard a child scream so loud," Sherlock wondered aloud.

Alex rolled her eyes and headed out of the door, her arms laden with food. She saw that Logan had wisely sneaked up to her room while Sherlock and her were conversing. She opened the door and dumped the arm full of E-numbers onto the bed, much to the astonishment of Logan.

"You have excelled yourself Holmes."

"Is that so Baxter?"

Logan laughed and ruffled her hair.

The two best friends were soon sat happily munching away at the chemically preserved mush that everyone loves so much. Nothing was mentioned about the text, and Alex was extremely glad. Everything was back to normal. The only problem was the cold.

"I'm freezing," Logan shivered.

"Well, you shouldn't have given me your jumper," Alex said as she began to pull it back over her head to give it back to him

"No you keep it."

Alex shrugged but to be honest, she was feeling the chill as well. Not that she would admit that however. Alex paused. He had given her his jumper. He had done it so many times before, but this time it felt different. Completely different. This wasn't like all those times he had rolled his eyes at her and put his coat around her shoulders or leant her clothes to put over the ones she had on when they were playing in the garden. There was something about this time, like it was something from a cheesy romance film. She immediately wanted to take it off, a horrible feeling in her stomach.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked.

Alex broke out of her reverie, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Completely fine."

"You looked like you were worrying about something."

"Oh nothing. Just grimacing against the cold," she said.

"If we put all of the food on the mattress and take the duvet off, we could put the duvet over us," he suggested.

No, that didn't sound like a good idea. But why? The pair had slept in the same bed hundreds of times before during sleepovers when they were little. Not wanting to make a fuss, though, Alex said, "Sounds good to me."

Ten minutes later, they were sat in the infinitely warmer duvet, a little closer to each other. Alex tried to shuffle away, the intense feeling of _something _growing stronger.

"So, what is with all of the sneaking around, surely Sherlock must know that I visit?" Logan asked, his mouth full of salt and vinegar crisps.

"Technically I'm grounded. Sherlock gives me a little leeway, like the cinema, and I'm allowed out on my own but…"

"What have you done now?"

"I made a little impromptu trip to Birmingham."

"Birmingham?!" Logan exclaimed.

Alex shushed him and motioned to downstairs.

"Sorry, but Birmingham?" he whispered, "Why?"

Alex sighed, "I had an argument with Mycroft."

"Y'know, usually when you fall out with a family member, you just badmouth them to your friends, not run half way up the country," Logan remarked.

"Yeah well I'm not exactly what you'd count as 'usual', am I," Alex snapped.

"Whoa."

"Sorry."

Logan was quiet for a moment, deliberating whether or not to continue. Eventually, he did.

"What was it about?"

Alex shook her head, "Nothing important really, just the usual. You know… Mum. It started off with me just asking him to tell me stories about her when she was my age. Then I guess I went too far. Started asking him who she was friends with. Where she would go out to. Her job when she had me. How she changed when she had me. If there was anyone who threatened her. Close friends she had then that I don't know about."

"What's so wrong about that?" Logan asked.

Alex licked her lips, "I was building up a profile. Just like Sherlock would for a case. Suddenly Mum was my case again… you remember how it turned out when we were little."

"You became obsessed," Logan said, eyes avoiding hers. "I remember you kept saying it wasn't suicide."

"It was murder," Alex nodded. "Of course, it wasn't. She killed _herself _but it's just easier to blame someone else. It feels like I can at least still do something for her. If I could catch her killer. But she was her own killer."

"What did Mycroft say?"

"He got angry," Alex admitted. "I can understand why. I was dragging up the past and dragging him with it. He was just worried I'd get hurt, I think. But it was the anniversary of her death and I was already angrier. He told me to leave it alone, and I told him I hated him, packed a bag, and said that I'd find out who killed her myself.

By the time I stopped catching buses, I had calmed down enough to see what an idiot I was being. I went to the city centre and sat on a bench, waiting for someone to bring me back. I promised them I wouldn't pry again, and I got grounded for not telling them where I was going."

"You should have called me," Logan said.

"I just wanted to be on my own," Alex laid her head back on the pillow with a sigh. "I was a bit of a mess. You wouldn't want to see me like that. It's better for me to just work through it."

Logan chewed the inside of his mouth, and his fists clenched and unclenched. It looked like he was afraid. Or nervous. He sent a quick look to the window and Alex jumped a little as his phone vibrated. He hurriedly took it out and read the text. Alex couldn't see it as he angled the phone just slightly away from her. He seemed to go pale.

"Everything okay?" Alex asked in concern.

His lips tugged into a smile, with a little more effort than Alex liked. Now who was worrying about something. However, before she could pry, he leant back and put his arm around her. It was tense. It slowly relaxed to be more comfortable and, taking her completely by surprise, he kissed the top of her head.

The kiss was purely platonic, but the way his lips felt on her skin made whatever was gnawing at her insides blare at her in warning. He felt him move so that they were face to face, and he pressed soft, fleeting kiss to the corner of her mouth. His lips were tight and dry, obviously unsure of what they were supposed to do.

Alex sat there, frozen as he pulled back and sat up straight next to her. They didn't look at one another.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. He sounded so emotional.

"No," Alex murmured. "No, it's fine. I gotta, call Anthea. I t-told I would," Alex stumbled, giving him a hesitant smile as she rolled off the bed and slipped out into the hallway, taking out her phone.

It was true. The text hadn't been just a joke taken too literally. He liked her. _Liked _her. That was what a kiss meant, wasn't it? Kiss equalled 'I want a relationship', right? She was screwed.

"Pick up… pick up… come on… World War 3 can wait… yes! Anthea!"

_"Hey kid, what's up?"_

"Logan just kissed me, what do I do?" Alex panicked.

"_Didn't take you two long did it," _Anthea laughed.

"Not the time. Tell me what to do?"

"_You can so tell that you are Mycroft and Sherlock's niece. Okay, where are you?"_

"My bedroom."

"It really _didn't take you long."_

Alex frowned. The pieces clicked.

"Anthea no! It isn't like that Jesus. There are quite a few _legal_ issues with that. No, he was sat next to me and it just kind of happened. The kiss, I mean," Alex added hastily.

_"Good, you had me worried that you were making up for your Uncle's naïvety there," _Anthea laughed.

"Honestly Anthea, I'm going to throw up any second now. I knew I should have phoned Molly," Alex muttered.

_"What are you so worried about? Just enjoy it!"_

"I can't!" she forced herself to quieten and calm down. "I don't know how I'm feeling."

_"Describe to me."_

"Okay… um… I feel a little sick. And my stomach feels weird, kind of like I'm," she struggled for the right words. "Scared, almost. Like an instinct. What does it mean? Does it mean… you know… do I…?"

_"Love him? Everyone feels differently in different situations, but from what I can gather, your body is certainly telling you you do."_

"Oh God," Alex ran a hand through her hair. "But I thought it was supposed to be nice! This isn't nice! This feels like I've walked into a maths exam I didn't know about!"

Anthea laughed, _"You are such a Holmes."_

"Stop it. Tell me what I need to do. I have no clue what I'm doing here."

_"Alright, I'm serious now. Tell Logan that you will meet up with him at school on Monday and not before then. Don't even text him. This will give you both time to think about what you both want without either of you getting influenced by the other," _Anthea said.

Alex contemplated it, "Yeah, I think I'll do that. Thank you, Anthea. Really. All is forgiven."

_"Good to know. Good luck."_

Ending the call, Alex took a deep breath before shuffling into the room. Logan was on his phone and put it away as soon as he saw Alex. He had been picking the side of his fingernail, a nervous habit of his. Trying not to let her voice quiver, she told him the plan.

"Good idea," he agreed, with an air of relief.

"Are you sure that you are okay with it?" Alex asked cautiously.

"Of course," he smiled but as Alex turned to lead him down the stairs, he caught her elbow, "but whatever happens, can we still stay friends?" he asked nervously.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Alex said.

"I mean, through whatever. This and anything else?"

A little confused Alex nodded, "Yeah."

He gave her a small smile and followed her.

It was easier to sneak back down that it was to get up because all Alex had to do was distract Sherlock while Logan made a run for it back to his house. She watched him go with a barrage of emotions welling inside of her. She wasn't sure if any of them were good.

She shook her head and wandered back into the living room with her Uncle, the cogs in her mind working overtime.

* * *

><p>John was sat opposite the woman known as Sarah in the surgery as she sifted through his CV.<p>

"Just locum work," she told him.

"No, that's fine," he smiled back, trying to be polite. It was hard to adjust to one minute having to restrain Sherlock to being around normal people again.

"You're, um ... well, you're a bit over-qualified."

"Well... I could really do with the money," he said.

Sherlock wasn't likely to be getting a paid job anytime soon so John was the only hope of bringing in any money. The prospect of Sherlock behind a till in Sainsbury's was almost laughable.

"Well, we've got two away on holiday this week, and one's just left to have a baby. Might be a bit mundane for you," Sarah warned.

"Er, no; mundane is good sometimes. Mundane works."

If anyone needed some time to be normal, it was John bloody Watson. If he kept living on adrenaline 100% of the time, he didn't think his blood pressure would be able to take it.

"It says here you were a soldier," Sarah said softly.

"And a doctor," John added.

He smiled at her again and she looked down with a blush.

"Anything else you can do?" she coughed to divert his attention away from her rosy cheeks.

John rattled his memory. There had to be something-

"I… played clarinet at school," he said hopefully.

"Oh, well I look forward to it!" she laughed, and John smiled at her cute giggle. Mundane might_ not _be the right word after all.

John had a grin on his face all the way in the taxi.

"Someone special got you smiling like that mate?" the cabbie asked good naturedly.

"Something like that. Hopefully."

"Tell me where you got yours from and I will see if I can get a special deal."

John chuckled and smiled again to himself as he thought of Sarah.

* * *

><p>John walked in from the landing and dropped his jacket onto his well-worn armchair.<p>

"John, I said, 'Could you pass me a pen?'" Sherlock said without turning away from the photographs that he was still studying.

"What? When?" Alex asked from her position on the couch.

"About an hour ago."

"No you didn't," Alex frowned.

"Must not have said that aloud."

"Wow, to a person five miles away and in your head. That must be some sort of record," Alex commented and John snorted as he threw a pen at Sherlock who caught it without breaking his gaze with the evidence on the mirror.

"Speaking of being five miles away, how did the job interview go?" Alex asked John.

"Job interview?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Yes, the one at the surgery," John sighed.

"So how did it go?" Alex prompted.

John immediately grinned,

"It's great. She's great."

"Who?" Sherlock asked in surprise.

"The job," John said.

"'She'" Alex teased.

"…It," he said, blushing.

"Aw you're blushing," Alex giggled.

"If you two have finished your little gossip, come over and have a look at this," Sherlock said.

Alex shook her head and climbed over the back of the sofa to see the webpage on the laptop that Sherlock had in his hand.

**_Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police_**

_An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in..._

Next to it was a photograph of a bald man.

"'The intruder who can walk through walls'," John quoted.

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon," Sherlock said.

"God. You think ..." John trailed off looking at Sherlock.

"He has killed another one," Sherlock whispered.

Alex rolled her eyes. Any opportunity to be dramatic.


	9. The Blind Banker - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**AN: Hello again! So here is chapter nine. I am feeling a lot better now so updates should be more frequent :)**

**Enjoy:**

Alex was sat in the waiting room inside Scotland Yard. Sherlock and John had gone in to see Dimmock, but he insisted that Alex was too young to take part in any aspect of the case. She smirked as she remembered her Uncle's words,

_"Looking at you, she is hardly much older and she does a better job than the half of this department put together; but then again, that isn't saying much!"_

Ah, the joys of being his niece. Alex's happy thoughts were dashed however when none other than Sally Donovan came snooping past.

"Hello Freak Junior. How are you?"

"Fine thanks," Alex said coolly.

"What are you so thinking deeply about? What you're having for dinner?"

"No. I was merely… pondering what to do for my English Lit class," Alex lied through gritted teeth.

Donovan scoffed.

"This wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be. Crap morning and here I thought that I could let off some steam arguing with you," she muttered as she turned to walk away.

Alex blew out a breath. She would have loved to punch her in the face but she backed off. It was all down to her surname that Donovan was so different around her. Everyone was different around her once they learn who she was. Her stupid surname. She wondered for just a moment if she could have been Lestrade's niece. Alessandra Lestrade, it had a nice ring to it. Things would be so much easier. She wouldn't have the burden of having to live up to the two biggest geniuses that she had ever met. She wouldn't be picked on because she was smarter than others. She would actually be able to interact with people her own age without having to run to Anthea or Molly every time she got stuck.

Alex blew out another deep breath and cleared her thoughts. It was no good thinking about 'what ifs' or 'maybes'. She was Alex Holmes. There was nothing she could do about it.

It was then that her mobile began to vibrate in her pocket.

"Hello?"

It was Mycroft, _"I have some bad news."_

Alex sat up straighter.

"What?" she asked urgently.

_"Oh nothing horrific. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get you the whole week off school. You have exam preparation or something equally mundane to do."_

Alex groaned.

"When do I have to go back?"

_"Um… ten minutes,"_ he said, and hung up.

Alex stared at her phone in shock.

"What?!"

* * *

><p>Alex wrestled her way back into her school uniform as she sent a text to Sherlock explaining why she wasn't at the police station. She tied up her hair in a lazy ponytail and slipped her tie on. As she threw on her backpack and turned to leave, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and cringed. The horrible, horrible black blazer and red tie. She could almost hear it jeering at her,<p>

'Look at me, slipped snug around your neck! You know what this means! You know where you are going!'

She just wanted to rip it off. And that was her thought as she hailed a cab and closed her eyes as it took her closer and closer to hell.

The taxi pulled up way too soon and in her desperate state, she had thrown the driver three twenty pound notes. Needless to say, he sped off before she could comprehend what she had just done. Alex shook her head at her own stupidity and traipsed into the school.

Everyone was halfway through second lesson when Alex shuffled through the corridor and approached the door to her science lesson. She hesitated, her hand wavering over the handle. She could hear the muffled voices on the other side. She bit her bottom lip as she heard the hollering voice of Becky Davidson.

"Are you going to go in or not?" a voice asked.

Alex whirled around to see her maths teacher behind her.

"Oh yeah… I was just sort of, getting ready."

He gave her a strange look and walked to his classroom. Alex swallowed as she opened the door.

All heads immediately snapped to her, conversations dropped as she hovered awkwardly in the open doorway. Alex shifted uncomfortably under their gaze.

"Um… sorry I'm late miss."

Miss Wallace just gave her an insufferable sigh and nodded towards Alex's seat at the back of the class. Alex scuffled awkwardly around the girls who had pushed their seats out as far as they could so that she couldn't get past. She had to dodge feet that came to trip her over but eventually managed to get to her seat with still some dignity left.

Mrs Wallace then began her lecture on the difference between hydrocarbons, polyethene and polyethane. Alex started to drift.

* * *

><p>Detective Inspector Dimmock was sat at his desk with that arrogant sod Sherlock Holmes in front of him, typing on the keyboard of his laptop at an alarmingly fast rate. John Watson was stood next to him. John seemed like a nice, normal person and Dimmock couldn't help but wonder how the hell he ended up being friends with Sherlock Holmes of all people.<p>

"Brian Lukis, freelance journalist. Murdered in his flat ..." Sherlock spun the laptop around to face Dimmock, "doors locked from the inside."

"You've got to admit, it's similar," John reasoned.

Dimmock scowled at the pair of them. They were like school boys. This was _his _case not theirs. They weren't even on the force!

"Both men killed by someone who can walk through solid walls," John continued, not quite believing that he had actually said that.

"Inspector, do you seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another City suicide?" Sherlock asked, staring at him intently.

Dimmock squirmed uncomfortably under the Consulting Detective's gaze as Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"You have seen the ballistics report, I suppose?"

Dimmock nodded but kept his mouth shut.

"And the shot that killed him: was it fired from his own gun?" Sherlock pressed.

"… No," he admitted reluctantly, internally grumbling.

"No. So this investigation might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel," Sherlock declared.

He put his hands on the desk and leaned over so that he was inches away from the Detective Inspector's face.

"I've just handed you a murder enquiry," he straightened up, "Five minutes in his flat."

* * *

><p>Alex quite liked her seat at the back. It meant that she could sit and doodle or read while no one else would notice. There was also the most important thing that she could see all of the people she disliked. She knew that gave her quite a large advantage. But it still hurt her to see the knowing looks passed between their little cliques or the snide comments made about her that sent a round of laughter around their little coven.<p>

"Have you seen her hair?"

"Has she even blinked in the last ten minutes?"

"She's so strange."

"Why did she have to come back?"

These were the general comments that circulated around the classroom in the first five minutes of Alex entering.

"Alex, are you paying attention?" Mrs Wallace asked.

"Yes, Miss."

"Okay then, what is a polymer made up of?"

"Monomers," Alex replied. She was taught this by Sherlock when she was five.

"How many possible electrons in the first shell?"

"Two."

"Chemical symbol of limestone."

"CaCO3."

"Good. Name a method used to separate crude oil," Mrs Wallace was trying to catch her out. They hadn't covered this yet.

"Fractional Distillation."

Mrs Wallace looked defeated for only a minute but quickly recovered.

"Yes, well done," she said briskly, "Now back onto the class after you interrupted. Hydrocarbons are made up of only…"

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John ducked under the blue police tape at Lukis's flat and jogged up the stairs his long legs taking three steps at once.<p>

He entered Lukis's living room and immediately began to scrape his eyes over everything he could see. An empty suitcase lay overturned on the floor, a crumpled black origami lotus was discarded on the carpet and the whole room was scattered with books and CDs of all different types. The floor was barely noticeable under all of the clutter. John and DI Dimmock followed Sherlock into the room.

Sherlock suddenly walked over into the little kitchenette in the corner of the living room and pulled back the curtains of the window there. He gave a small smile to himself.

"Four floors up," he mumbled, "That's why they think that they are safe. Put a chain across a door, bolt it shut, think they are impregnable," he walked back to the centre of the room, "They don't reckon for one second that there is another way in."

"I don't understand," Dimmock said as Sherlock brushed past him and walked back onto the landing.

"We are dealing with a killer who can climb," he proclaimed as he pulled out a stool and stood up on it.

"What are you doing?" Dimmock asked incredulously.

Sherlock knocked open the small skylight in the top of the wall,

"Clings to the walls like an insect. That's how he got in."

"What?" Dimmock asked again, seeming extremely thick to not only Sherlock but to John as well.

"He climbed up the side of the walls, ran along the roof and dropped in through this skylight," Sherlock explained.

"You're not serious. Like spider man?" his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Sherlock turned to him with barely concealed contempt on his face.

"He scaled six floors of a Docklands apartment building, jumped the balcony and killed Van Coon."

"Oh, hold on," Dimmock laughed.

But Sherlock just ignored him and ploughed on,

"That is how he got into the bank- ran along the window ledge onto the terrace," he stood down from the stool, "I have to find out what connects these two men…" Sherlock trailed off as something caught his eye on the stairs. He bent down and picked up an open book. In the top corner was a stamp of two lions around a crest and a banner underneath saying: **_WEST KENSINGTON LIBRARY_**

Sherlock slammed the book shut and stored it in his enormous coat before taking off back down the stairs again and surging towards a taxi, John (as always) close by his side. They arrived at the library and found the shelf that Lukas's book came from.

"Date stamped on the book is the same day that he died," Sherlock said as he began rifling through the different books on the shelf. John began to do the same when he stopped. He had just pulled out three books to reveal the same yellow graffiti that was sprayed in the office at the back of the shelf.

"Sherlock," he said grimly.

His friend turned to him and pulled out handfuls of books to reveal the whole tag.

* * *

><p>The bell didn't ring early enough and Alex rushed to throw her bag over her shoulder and collect her homework. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard someone call her name, well her school name.<p>

"Freak!"

Alex closed her eyes for a second and turned to face Victoria Mason.

"Yes Victoria?"

"What have you been saying about me?" Veronica snarled, her eyes flashing.

Alex frowned, "I haven't said anything." _I don't talk to anybody._

"Yeah of course you haven't," she said sarcastically.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Alex muttered and turned to head back down to the corridor to the yard.

Victoria grabbed her arm.

"I don't like people who spread lies about me," she hissed.

It was then that Alex realised that Becky Davidson was laughing from behind her hand and Alex knew that this was her doing.

"And I don't take kindly to people latching onto my arm and lowering my IQ. If I were you, I would go and talk to Becky. She seems like she has a lot to say today," Alex said in a forced calm.

Victoria looked at her like she was something on the underside of her shoe and grunted as she stalked away.

Alex shook her head and continued to the library. She knew she could be alone there. She wasn't up to breaking the plan and facing Logan today. Her stomach was unsettled enough as it was today. Sullenly, she took out her Stephen King book and read until the bell went. She checked her timetable. Next, she had Citizenship. _Oh great,_ she thought sarcastically as she weaved around the streams of students flooding the corridor.

Alex immediately took the single table at the back of the room and sat down. She always preferred the single tables because there was no chance of anyone sitting next to you and making it their mission to make the next hour a misery. Alex was much happier in her own company.

Just then, the door swung open and Mrs Morton walked in, followed by a Chinese woman.

"Hello Class! Today, instead of doing the end of topic test, the headmaster has organised for Laura here," she motioned to the woman stood next to her, "to give us an insight into Chinese culture."

_Hm, Laura. Doesn't sound like a Chinese name, _Alex thought to herself as Laura nodded gratefully to Mrs Morton and stood at the front of the class.

"Hello. As you have been told, I am here to show you some of the things we do in China so that you can compare our lifestyles. First, we shall start with hobbies. Now, on the end of every desk, there is a square piece of white paper. I shall show you today how to make an origami tulip."

There was an excited murmur throughout the class. It beat doing a test.

Laura took her own piece of paper and demonstrated how to do it.

The next ten minutes brought frustration and ripped paper for all. Well, all apart from Alex. Her tulip was done, a little too loose around the folds but it at least resembled a tulip (unlike everybody else's). Alex placed the tulip gently at the corner of her desk and admired it. Of course, nobody else had noticed that she had succeeded in making it and she really didn't want the attention. Therefore, she was surprised to see Laura making her way over to her.

"Your tulip is very good," she praised in accented English.

"Thank you," Alex muttered quietly. She had practiced with Sherlock when she was little.

Laura studied her, looking from the paper flower and back to her. She seemed to be taking in all of her features and Alex began to feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Would you like to try another flower?" Laura asked, seemingly breaking out of her trance-like gaze.

"Um, yes please," Alex said.

Laura pulled out a square piece of black paper and gently placed it in front of her on the desk.

"What type of flower is it?" Alex asked.

"A very special one," Laura said with a smile that Alex couldn't quite place, "A lotus. A black lotus."

* * *

><p><strong>I am thinking of Alex having her own case after the blind banker and I have it all planned out. Hopefully, it should work.<strong>

**Thank you for taking the time to read this and if you could spare just an extra minute to review, it would really mean a lot.**

**-Abby**


	10. The Blind Banker - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Here's chapter 10 :) I hope you're all okay!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously,_

_"Would you like to try another flower?" Laura asked, seemingly breaking out of her trance-like gaze._

_"Um, yes please," Alex said shyly._

_Laura pulled out a square piece of black paper and gently placed it in front of her on the desk._

_"What type of flower is it?" Alex asked._

_"A very special one," Laura said with a smile that Alex couldn't quite place, "A lotus. A black lotus."_

Alex was intrigued as she watched Laura delicately fold over the paper and twist and turn. It was now Alex's turn. She folded it diagonally twice so that there was a cross in the middle. She then folded in every corner three times and turned it over. She folded those corners in twice and popped out the paper from underneath and gasped. The lotus was in her hand, complete and beautiful.

"Good," Laura remarked and walked back to the front of the class.

Alex just looked down at the flower. It was small and intricate and… she couldn't help the feeling of familiarity- like she had seen it before.

The rest of the lesson passed learning the Chinese translation of their names, and symbols, and numbers and Alex had to admit that she was having one of the best lessons she had ever had. Everyone was so occupied with the different activities, that they forgot to pick on her. And the Chinese language was so beautiful. Alex loved the way that the words just rolled off your tongue.

By the time the bell went, Alex had made three more lotuses and had them carefully in her inside pocket so that they wouldn't get crushed. She caught a cab back to Baker Street (the school bus was just another hunting ground for the imbeciles) and walked straight in.

"Hey Mrs H!" Alex greeted.

"Hello, lovely. How was school?" she asked.

"Surprisingly okay actually," Alex replied with a genuine smile that was mirrored by Mrs Hudson.

"You better be going up, Sherlock has been asking for your input in one of his little cases."

Alex nodded and inwardly laughed at the way Mrs Hudson said 'little cases' as if Sherlock was looking for a missing yoyo. She opened the door to the flat and saw John and Sherlock crowded around the mirror muttering between themselves. Alex dumped her school stuff in her room and got changed out of her uniform into something more comfortable. She then re-entered the living room to find them both in exactly the same position.

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves a threatening cipher for Van Coon; Van Coon panics, returns to his apartment, locks himself in," Sherlock said, "Hours later, he dies."

"The killer finds Lukis at the library; he writes the cipher on the shelf where he knows it'll be seen; Lukis goes home," John continued, both still staring at the photos.

"Late that night, he dies too."

"Why do they die Sherlock?" John asked softly.

"Only the cipher can tell us," Sherlock replied, equally as softly as he ran his pale finger over the yellow line covering Sir William's eyes.

Alex decided that now was a good time to make them aware that she was home.

"Hello," she said.

Neither seemed to acknowledge her presence.

"Hello," she dragged the word out.

Still no reaction.

Right…

Alex walked over to the cabinet near the desk and took out the gun from the draw. She aimed away from Sherlock and John because her aim wasn't that fantastic. Sherlock had said that he would teach her sometime in the next few months after she had gotten better at the deductions. Alex pointed it at the opposite wall and pulled the trigger.

"Bloody hell! What are you doing?!" John exclaimed as he spun around.

Sherlock on the other hand didn't even flinch.

"Alex has unfortunately picked that up from me. When she was younger and wouldn't listen, I would shoot the wall to pay attention," he said in a bored voice.

John looked at him incredulously and Alex tried not to laugh. She sauntered over to stand next to them.

"So what have we got then?" she asked.

John filled her in on the events that happened when she was at school and Alex looked at the photos.

"Any ideas?" Sherlock asked.

Alex shook her head and was about to turn away when a certain picture caught her eye.

"What's that?" she pointed to an origami flower identical to the one that she had just made.

"It's a lotus," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, but what's it to do with the case?"

"It was found with both bodies." John informed her.

Sherlock watched his niece carefully as her eyebrows knitted together. He was about to ask her what she knew but she had turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

"Alex?" he called from the doorway.

Alex barged into her bedroom and rifled through her blazer pockets. She took out the fragile flower and held it delicately as she ran back down into the living room next to her uncle.

"Look," she held it out.

Sherlock immediately snatched it and turned it over and over in his hands. John came over to look at it over Sherlock's shoulder.

"Where did you get this from?" he asked.

"I made it."

Sherlock frowned at her,

"You haven't done any origami for years."

"In Citizenship we had a woman that came in to teach us it," Alex said.

Sherlock placed the flower on the desk and took hold of her shoulders and began to spin her around. She knew what he was doing; he had done it many a time with her before.

"Remember what she looked like," he ordered.

"She was normal height, black hair, Chinese," Alex told him, already feeling dizzy from the spinning.

"Has she been in before?"

"No."

"Do you recognise her from anywhere?"

"No."

"How old did she look?"

"Um... forty-ish."

"What was her name?"

"She introduced herself as Laura."

Sherlock dropped her shoulders.

"Laura? Doesn't sound like a Chinese name at all," John spoke up.

"No," Sherlock rumbled in his deep voice, "It is most likely an alias. Pretty obvious alias, too, rather defeats the point…"

Alex bit her lip.

"So this woman, she could be the murderer?"

Sherlock turned back to her.

"Possibly," he said, "But the question is, why did they go to you? Why would they take a risk like that? They knew that we would find the lotus, they left it for us."

Sherlock ruffled his hair as he gripped his head.

"It doesn't make sense!"

"Maybe they want to lead us on a false trail," John suggested.

"No," Sherlock dismissed, "They wouldn't do that. A murderer with that skill would just kill us if they wanted us off their trail."

"Comforting," John muttered.

"What if they're messing with us?" Alex said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, "What do you mean?"

"They could be showing us that they are everywhere. I mean, not many murderers make it into a secondary school do they. It could be that they are just playing a game."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Alex flashed back to Jeff the cabbie and his words,

_"Come on, play the game," Jeff beckoned._

"Alex, are you okay?" John asked.

Alex snapped back to reality and saw that Sherlock had picked up his violin and John was looking at her with concern.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Just feeling a little bit sick. I'm going to go and do some homework," she said distractedly and turned to go to her bedroom.

John sent her a worried glance, the doctor in him shining through but turned back to the case and tried to drown out Sherlock's very loud violin playing.

Alex was breathing heavily as she shut her door. Those words. They scared her. She had only heard them once but there was something so sinister about them, so twisted.

She took out her notepad and wrote the words down and was about to put the paper back when she realised something. She made three lotuses. One was downstairs and only one was on the desk. Alex dived for her blazer, hoping that she had just accidently left it in the pockets, but it was no use.

They were empty.

It was then that Alex felt her black curls drift slightly from her head and her skin cooled by a breeze. She slowly turned her head towards the source and found the window open, the curtains wafting. She hadn't opened it. Someone had been there. Or was still there. Alex froze and slowly began to back towards the door, her eyes constantly scanning the room for movement.

"Sherlock!" she shouted.

"He's busy," John called back to her.

"The murderer John. Th-they've been here!"

Alex immediately heard two lots of heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs and she felt Sherlock grab her sleeve. He looked over to the open window as John scouted around behind the bed and the large wardrobe.

"There's nobody here," he said and Sherlock let go of Alex.

"Did they take anything?" Sherlock asked her.

"The other lotus that I made," she said shakily.

"Where was it?" he demanded.

"On my desk."

Sherlock and John walked over to the desk and Sherlock bent down to eye level of the surface and searched for finger prints.

"Must have worn gloves."

Alex shivered; she couldn't believe that just seconds previously she had been in the same room as a psychotic murderer. John sensed her discomfort and gave her a reassuring smile.

"The only way we can figure out who it is and why they are doing this is by decoding the cipher," Sherlock said.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

Sherlock just took off down the stairs and swung his coat dramatically over his shoulders, John and Alex close behind him.

* * *

><p>The street was bustling as usual at Trafalgar Square as the John and Alex fought through the crowds to keep up with Sherlock.<p>

"The world's run on codes and ciphers. From the million-pound security system at the bank, to the PIN machine you took exception to, cryptography inhabits our every waking moment," Sherlock told them as they approached the national gallery.

"Yes, okay, but ..." John started.

"But it's all computer-generated: electronic codes, electronic ciphering methods. This is different. It's an ancient device. Modern code-breaking methods won't unravel it," he continued.

"Where are we headed?" John asked.

"I need to ask some advice."

John looked flabbergasted.

"What?! Sorry?!"

"You heard me perfectly," Sherlock sighed exasperatedly.

"You need advice?" Alex asked.

"On painting, yes. I need to talk to an expert. And an old friend of Alex's."

Alex immediately knew where they were going and sighed. She followed her Uncle straight passed the entrance to the museum and around the side alley. A teenager in a hoodie was stood spray painting a questionable looking police officer onto the metal fire exit of the museum. Alex resisted the urge to grumble as they stopped in front of Raz.

"'Ello, Alex. 'Aven't seen you in a while," he said in his thick cockney accent, nodding to his masterpiece. "Part of a new exhibition,"

"Interesting," Sherlock muttered, his tone saying completely the opposite.

"I call it Urban Bloodlust Frenzy," Raz chuckled.

"Catchy," John murmured sarcastically and Alex grinned at him.

"I've got two minutes before a Community Support Officer comes round that corner," Raz said, going back to his spraying, "Can we do this while I'm workin'?"

Sherlock took out his mobile phone out of his coat pocket and held it out to Raz. Raz looked from the phone, back to Sherlock and threw the spray can in his hand to John who caught it instinctively. Raz scrolled through the pictures of the graffiti.

"Know the author?" Sherlock asked.

"Recognise the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."

"What about the symbols? Do you recognise them?" Alex pressed.

Raz turned to her at the sound of her voice and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

"I asked you a question," Alex said.

"As impatient as ever," he mocked. "Not even sure it's a language."

"Two men have been murdered, Raz. Deciphering this is the key to finding out who killed them," Sherlock interjected.

"What, and this is all you've got to go on? It's hardly much, now, is it?"

"Are you gonna help us or not?"

"Nope," he answered simply.

"After everything I did for you when we were kids?" Alex challenged. "Even after I bailed you out of trouble when you were getting sent to juvie? Have you forgotten that?"

"… No, I haven't forgotten. I'll ask around," Raz relented.

"Somebody must know something about it-"

Sherlock was cut off when a gruff sounding police man shouted. Alex bounded off instinctively, Sherlock (for once) struggling to keep up with _her_. By the time they were a few blocks away, she realised that they were a member missing.

"We… we left John," she panted, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

Sherlock looked just as collected as he had before they started running.

"What have I told you? You start off like a scolded cat then end up wheezing not long later! You really need to work on your stamina."

"Can we just give the whole tutor thing a break for just a minute please?" Alex moaned.

"No," Sherlock said shortly.

"Argh, I am sick of constantly having my flaws pointed out!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry, it's just that you have so many of them," Sherlock said.

She rolled her eyes, "Come on, then."

He clapped her on the back.

"Let's get back to Baker Street and await the wrath of an extremely angry John Watson," Sherlock said.

* * *

><p>At the National Antiquities Museum, Andy burst through the door following his supervisor, discussing (well more like pestering her about) Soo Lin Yao's resignation.<p>

"She was right in the middle of an important restoration. Why would she suddenly resign?" Andy asked.

"Family problems, she said so in her letter," the supervisor explained patiently.

"But she doesn't have a family. She came to this country on her own," Andy pushed.

"Andy…" she tried to interrupt before he could start his rant again.

"Look, those teapots, those ceramics: they've become her obsession. She's been working on restoring them for weeks. I-I can't believe that she would just abandon them."

"Maybe she was getting a little bit of _unwanted_ attention," she said pointedly and continued through into the other room, leaving Andy stood on his own. He looked around and saw people hurriedly look away as he caught their eye.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was stood at the mirror once again while Alex read her book, curled up in the armchair. A sudden loud slam startled her from her page and almost made her drop the book. She was about to say something when she saw John's angry face come in from the doorway, his fists clenched and his body stiff with supressed rage.<p>

"You've been a while," Sherlock commented without turning around.

Alex winced. That probably wasn't the best thing to say, given that John began to purse his lips and breathe rather heavily. She slowly shut her book.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is. Custody sergeants don't really like to be hurried, do they?" John said with a mock smile, "Just formalities: fingerprints, charge sheet; and I've gotta be in Magistrates Court on Tuesday," John's voice got increasingly angrier the further he got on.

"What?" Sherlock asked absently and Alex just put her head into her hands._ For a genius, he sure is thick._

"Me, Sherlock, in court on Tuesday. They're giving me an ASBO!" he hissed angrily.

"Good. Fine," Sherlock waved off absentmindedly.

"You wanna tell your little pal he's welcome to go and own up any time," John said tightly.

"I'll do it," Alex volunteered instantly.

God knew he had driven her half mad during their childhood.

"This symbol: I still can't place it," Sherlock muttered.

John began to take off his jacket when Sherlock jogged over to him and pulled it back over his shoulders.

"Oi!" John shouted indignantly.

"No, I need you to go to the police station," Sherlock said as he pushed John out of the door, "ask about the journalist."

"Oh Jesus," John sighed exasperatedly.

"His personal effects will have been impounded. Get hold of his diary, or something that will tell us his movements," he pulled on his coat. "Coming Alex?"

Alex nodded and flinched as her back cracked when she stood up. Sherlock shook his head at her and handed her her coat. They walked out onto the street.

"Gonna go and see Van Coon's P.A. If we retrace their steps, somewhere they'll coincide," Sherlock ordered as he steered Alex down the street with him, leaving John to watch after them and snort at the situation as he hailed a cab.

"Scotland Yard," he told the driver of one that pulled up.

"Right," the driver nodded and John got in the back.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and Alex stood in Van Coon's office with his Personal Assistant Amanda. Alex immediately took a liking to the woman, she reminded her of Molly a little bit. Amanda brought up Edward's diary on the computer.<p>

"Flew back from Dalian Friday. Looks like he had back-to-back meetings with the sales team," she read out.

"Can you print me up a copy?" Sherlock asked.

"Sure," Amanda smiled.

"What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?"

"Sorry, no. There's a bit of a gap," Amanda apologised.

Alex craned her neck over Sherlock's shoulder and saw that there were no entries for Monday the 22nd. Sherlock jerked his head in frustration.

"But I have all of his receipts," Amanda compromised.

Alex smiled at her.

* * *

><p>John stood at Scotland Yard with Detective Inspector Dimmock, rifling through Brian Lukis's possessions.<p>

"Your friend-" Dimmock started.

"Listen: whatever you are about to say, I'm with you one hundred percent," John interjected.

"He's an arrogant sod."

John actually looked quite surprised,

"Well that was mild," he remarked, "People usually say a lot worse than that."

Dimmock handed John a small notebook. John looked at it questioningly.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? The journalist's diary?"

John took the diary and flicked through, skimming the pages until he got to the date he wanted. It was bookmarked with a boarding pass to Dalian DLC (Dalian Zhoushuizi International Airport) to London LHR (London Heathrow Airport) on Zhuang Airlines.

John smiled to himself and walked out of Scotland Yard.

* * *

><p>Amanda helpfully spread out all of the receipts that she was able to find that belonged to Edward Van Coon all across the desk.<p>

"What kind of a boss was he, Amanda? Appreciative?" Sherlock asked.

"Um, no. That's not a word I'd use. The only things Eddie appreciated had a big price tag," Amanda smiled somewhat sadly.

Alex looked at Sherlock, communicating her deduction with her eyes and he gave a subtle nod. Amanda was a little more than a PA to Van Coon. Sherlock kneeled down so that he was at an easier height to reach the receipts and motioned for Alex to do the same.

"Like that hand cream, he gave that to you didn't he?" Sherlock said.

Amanda looked startled but was saved from answering when Sherlock began to talk again.

"Look at this one. Got a taxi from home on the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty," he said, holding up a receipt for Amanda and Alex to read.

"That would get him to the office," Amanda informed him.

"Not rush hour; check the time. Mid-morning. Eighteen would get him as far as…" Sherlock trailed off.

"The West End," Amanda picked up, "I remember him saying."

"Here," Alex called as she picked out a London Underground ticket with the same date on it and issued at Piccadilly.

Sherlock grinned at her and took it out of her hands.

"So he got a Tube back to the office. Why would he get a taxi into town and then the Tube back?" Amanda frowned.

"Because he was delivering something heavy. Didn't want to lug a package up the escalator," Sherlock explained.

"Delivering?"

"To somewhere near Piccadilly Station. Dropped the package, delivered it and then…" Sherlock picked up another receipt for Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano, "He got peckish."

Sherlock picked up the receipts that they needed and said goodbye to Amanda before walking briskly out of the office, his coat billowing behind him.

Amanda looked at Alex.

"Think he's forgotten about me again," she said casually.

**Thank you for reading. Please review!**

**-Abby**


	11. The Blind Banker - Part 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

_Previously:_

_Sherlock picked up the receipts that they needed and said goodbye to Amanda before walking briskly out of the office, his coat billowing behind him._

_Amanda looked at Alex._

_"Yeah… he does that," she said casually._

Alex picked up her coat and threw it over her shoulders.

"Thanks for your help Amanda," she smiled.

"No problem. I hope you don't mind me saying, but you seem a little… young to be doing something like this," Amanda said hesitantly.

"Oh it's fine, I get that quite a lot. I am sort of… well… in training of you like. Sherlock is my uncle so he is teaching me to carry on the family legacy."

Amanda nodded and waved as Alex left the office hail a cab.

Alex picked up her mobile and dialled Sherlock's number. It rang multiple times before going onto voicemail. Alex frowned just as her phone vibrated.

**You know I prefer to text, now stop dawdling and meet me outside Piazza Espresso Bar Italiano - SH.**

**Where Edward Van Coon ate? - AH**

**Of course it is where Van Coon ate. Stop asking infuriating questions and hurry up! - SH**

**Tetchy – AH**

Alex smirked as she received no reply and told the cab driver where to go. She'd had the last word.

**No you haven't – SH**

She looked at her mobile phone in disbelief. _How the hell did he do that?_

Alex pondered her Uncle's possible mind reading skill as the taxi ploughed on through the London traffic. It was rush hour and the cars were lined up, the whole road completely congested.

"Look, thanks for getting me so far, but I reckon that I will be quicker on foot now," she told the cab driver as she passed him a tenner, "Keep the change."

The cabbie gave her a smile and a thankful nod of the head as she climbed out. Alex put in her ear phones and pressed shuffle. She strained her ears for the any indication to what the random song might be and she grinned when she heard the unmistakably brilliant intro of _Echo Beach_ by Martha and the Muffins. Alex couldn't help but walk in time with the music.

She began to mouth the words, earning herself some amused looks from passer-bys, not that she particularly cared. The probability of seeing them again was next to none. As she got to the chorus, she didn't notice that she had reached her destination.

"Oomph," Alex grunted as walked directly into someone.

"Sorry-" she began to apologise before she saw who she had crashed into. It seemed that it was a three way collision between Sherlock, John and her.

"Hello," she chirped brightly as she pocketed her earphones.

Sherlock ignored pleasantries and dived straight in with his findings,

"Eddie Van Coon brought a package here the day he died – whatever was hidden inside that case. I've managed to piece together a picture using scraps of information-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted.

"Credit card bills, receipts. He flew back from China, then he came here," Sherlock carried on, unfazed.

"Sherlock," John tried again.

"Somewhere in this street; somewhere near. I don't know where, but-"

"That street over there," John pointed over the road.

"How can you tell?" Sherlock frowned.

"Lukis' diary," John took out the said diary, "He was there too. He wrote down the address."

John took off across the road.

"Oh."

Alex laughed and patted his arm.

"Better luck next time," she giggled and crossed the road after John.

Sherlock muttered something about Alex being a traitor under his breath and followed them into the shop.

It was small and poky and filled with various different Chinese trinkets and decorations, definitely fitting in with the rest of China Town with the reds and yellows smothering the walls.

"Hello," John greeted the Shopkeeper politely.

"You want lucky cat?" she asked in broken English as she held up one of the golden cats.

Alex hid her smile at John's face.

"No, thanks. No."

"Ten pound. Ten pound!"

Even Sherlock was smirking now as he inspected the products on the shelf.

"No," he declined, smiling awkwardly.

"I think your wife, she will like!" the Shopkeeper persisted.

"No, thank you," John said for what he hoped to be the last time.

The Shopkeeper finally seemed to get the message and set down the lucky cat on the counter dejectedly. Alex felt sorry for the woman with the forlorn face and fished around in her pocket for a tenner.

"I will have it," she smiled, placing the money next to the cat.

The woman's face lit up and she scurried around for a bag.

"I am sorry. I have no bag," the old Chinese woman apologised.

"No problem, I'll carry it," Alex reassured her and cradled the ornamental cat in her palm.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his niece walked over to show him her purchase.

"You don't even like cats," he whispered in her ear.

Her smile dropped, "I know, I don't know why I got it," she admitted.

Sherlock smirked in amusement.

"You two," John called from the other side of the shop.

John flipped over one of the porcelain cups to show the same sort-of upside down eight with a line above it which was painted beside Sir William's portrait and on the library shelf on the underside of the cup.

Sherlock's face clouded with recognition and promptly left the shop, leaving John and Alex to run to catch up with him.

"It's an ancient number system! Hangzhou," Sherlock told them with a triumphant grin as John and Alex fell into step with him, "These days, only street traders use it. Those were numbers written on the wall at the bank and at the library."

He motioned to a stall that they were passing and saw that the price was written in English and then in Hangzhou, "Numbers written in an ancient Chinese dialect."

"It's a fifteen! What we thought was the artist's tag – it's a number fifteen," John said as he saw the English equivalent below the cipher.

"And the blindfold – the horizontal line? That was a number as well," Alex breathed.

"The Chinese number one," Sherlock smiled proudly.

"We've found it!" John laughed.

Alex laughed too, caught up in the chase. Sherlock ruffled her hair.

"Where are we actually going, Sherlock?" Alex asked.

"I don't actually know," he admitted.

"Well, can we get something to eat, I am starving and I reckon John is too."

John nodded his agreement.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes,

"Honestly, you both waste so much money on food."

"No I don't," Alex argued.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I waste _your _money."

John chuckled at the pair and dragged them both back by their coats into a café next to them. Alex immediately got the table near the window. John and Sherlock sat down with her.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked Sherlock as he fiddled with a napkin.

"Writing down the numbers."

Alex nodded and looked out of the window while John ordered for her and himself.

"So," John began as the waitress scurried away to get their food, "Two men travel back from China. Both head straight for the Lucky Cat emporium. What did they see?"

"It's not what they saw; it's what they both brought back in those suitcases," Sherlock muttered.

"And you don't mean duty free."

The waitress took that moment to return in record time. Alex frowned but suddenly understood as she caught the longing glance that she was sending John's way.

"Thank you," he told her politely with a smile.

She blushed.

Alex rolled her eyes.

"Think about what Sebastian told us; about Van Coon – about how he stayed afloat in the market," Sherlock turned to Alex, fully in teacher mode.

She resisted the urge to groan.

"He lost five million."

"Made it all back in a week. That's how he made such easy money," Sherlock said.

"He was a smuggler!" John realised as he took a mouthful of food.

"A guy like him – it would have been perfect," Sherlock continued, "Business man making frequent trips to Asia. And Lukis was the same, a journalist writing about China."

"Both of them smuggled stuff out, and the Lucky Cat was their drop-off?" Alex looked at Sherlock for approval.

He nodded.

"But why did they die? I mean, it doesn't make sense. If they both turn up at the shop and deliver the goods, why would someone threaten them and kill them after the event, after they'd finished the job?" John asked in confusion.

Sherlock was silent but Alex had an idea. Not that she was going to share it of course. If she had thought of it before Sherlock had, then it had to be wrong.

"Alex, have any ideas?" he asked.

_How the bloody hell does he do that?!_

She coughed uncomfortably,

"Well… what if all the goods that were supposed to be delivered weren't there? What if one of them took something?" she asked hopefully.

Sherlock smirked at her,

"Perfect," he praised.

Alex rolled her eyes but couldn't help her smile.

"And the killer doesn't know which of them took it, so he threatens them both. Right." John nodded, signalling that he understood.

Sherlock looked out of the window again and Alex went back to her regrettably mostly eaten food.

"Remind me, when was the last time it rained?"

Alex looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

Without a reply, Sherlock took off out of the café door, leaving Alex to look longingly at her pancakes but have to get up and leave with a sigh, John having already gone out with her Uncle.

She saw Sherlock bend down and trace his finger under the plastic wrapper and the damp, curled up corners of a yellow pages book propped up against somebody's door. She came over and kneeled next to him to get a proper look.

"It has been here since Monday," he said slowly.

Sherlock straightened up and rang the bell of a woman whose name tag said Soo Lin Yao. There was no answer for a few seconds before Sherlock rounded the corner and entered an alleyway. John seemed stuck for whom to stay or go with.

"Go with him, I will wait here in case somebody decides to answer. Then I can explain to them that Sherlock isn't a mass murderer or a burglar," Alex smiled and John jogged after Sherlock.

She stared at the door and debated ringing for a second time but decided against it. She looked through the windows for any sign of movement but Soo Lin had those weird shutter blind things. _Wow what a sentence, 'those shutter blind things'. Shakespeare in the flesh, _Alex thought.

John then reappeared from the alleyway but without Sherlock.

"What are you doing? Where's Sherlock?" she asked.

"He's in there. Probably going to open the door soon," John replied.

"Why aren't you in there with him?"

John blushed slightly.

"He told me to wait with you," he said.

Alex nodded unconvinced and turned back to the letter box.

"Sherlock, you there?" she called through.

There was no reply.

"D'you think maybe you could let us in this time?" John tried.

There was still no answer.

"Can you please stop doing this!" he strained, his voice thick with frustration.

"I'm not the first," Sherlock's voice floated through the door.

Alex pressed her ear to the wall.

"What?"

"Somebody's been in here before me!"

"We can't hear you, what are you saying?" Alex asked.

There were a few minutes of silence.

Alex huffed and moved her head away from the wall, shrugging at John. He moved forward again and pushed the letterbox open again,

"_Any_ time you want to include us!"

Alex looked at John hopefully but he shook his head, indicating that he hadn't heard a reply.

"No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no-one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT!" John shouted the last bit as he paced around.

Alex just leaned against the wall.

"Sherlock…" she drawled, knowing full well he couldn't hear her, "You are a big headed, arrogant, arsehole… who can't cook."

John sent her an amused look.

Sherlock took that moment to emerge and be faced with two extremely strong glares.

"The, uh, milk's gone off and the washing's starting to smell. Somebody left here in a hurry three days ago," Sherlock's voice was croaky and scratchy.

Alex looked at him with concern.

"Somebody?" John asked.

"Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her," Sherlock announced, his voice still gruff.

"But how, exactly?"

Sherlock held out an envelope that he had retrieved from the floor earlier.

"Maybe we could start with this," he said.

**SOO LIN**

**Please ring me** **and tell me you're** **OK**

**Andy**

Alex took the paper and unfolded it. Sure enough, little print in the bottom corner read out,

**NATIONAL**

**ANTIQUITIES**

**MUSEUM**

"You've gone all croaky. Are you getting a cold?" John asked, the doctor in him shining out again as the three of them began to make their way to the museum.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said but his well-timed cough proved otherwise.

"Sure?" Alex asked.

"Completely sure."

* * *

><p>Once they reached the National Antiquities Museum, the first thing they did was get an interview with Andy in the main showing room.<p>

"When was the last time that you saw her?" Sherlock asked.

Alex was grateful that his voice was back to normal.

"Three days ago, um, here at the museum," Andy answered nervously.

Alex zoned out slightly and began admiring the clay pots behind her. They seemed priceless. Only one of them shined through, the other two were dull and dusty. She snapped her attention back to the case only glancing back briefly at the pots.

"This morning they told me she'd resigned just like that," Andy spoke and Alex could hear the sadness underlying in his voice.

"Just left her work unfinished."

"What was the last thing that she did on her final afternoon?" Sherlock asked him as he turned from a display of artwork.

"She would have gone down to the basement archives. I could show you if you like?"

"That would be in order," Sherlock replied.

Andy nodded and led them down numerous flights of stairs until they came to a long corridor with white vaults lined up against the wall.

"She does this demonstration for the tourists – a-a tea ceremony. So she would have packed up her things and just put them in here," he said, pointing into the vault.

John and Alex leaned in to look inside but Sherlock called them back over.

"Wh-" Alex began but stopped at the sight in front of her.

On a stand stood a life-sized sculpture of a woman. Yellow paint had been spray painted across the front of it. An almost horizontal straight line went across the eyes, and over the body had been sprayed the open upside down eight with the almost horizontal line above it. The cipher again.

Alex bit her lip.

* * *

><p>Darkness had fallen as Sherlock, John and Alex emerged from the museum, a new goal in their sights.<p>

"We need to find Soo Lin Yao," Sherlock stated.

"If she's still alive," John added sceptically.

Just then, a rough cockney voice split through the night air,

"Alex!" Raz shouted and Alex forced herself not to roll her eyes.

"Oh, look who it is," John muttered sarcastically as he watched Raz run over to them.

"Found something you'll like," Raz said to Sherlock, shooting Alex a wink.

She rolled her eyes at him. If they had both been five years younger, he wouldn't have given her a second glance.

Raz jogged off down the steps with Sherlock, John and Alex following albeit slowly.

"I'm guessing you don't really like him," John whispered to her.

"Your powers of deduction astound me," she retorted, but her joking tone took the venom out of it.

"You sounded just like Sherlock when you said that," he commented.

"Oh God forbid," she said in mock despair with her hand on her heart. "We used to be friends. He lived near me and my mum," Alex added at John's raised eyebrow. "He was the oldest out of me, Logan, and Lee. That was our group. I was the baby and while Lee and Logan treated me like a younger sister, Raz treated me like I was an annoying pet."

"When did you stop being friends?" John asked.

"A couple of years after Mum died. We just didn't see each other anymore and even now it's just the occasional hacky look. We don't really mean it though."

Alex realised that they were crossing the Hungerford Bridge and ran to catch up with their scout.

"Where are you taking us?" she asked Raz.

He just gave her an annoying knowing smirk and tapped his nose.

John caught up to them,

"Tuesday morning, all you've gotta do is turn up and say the bag was yours," he told Raz.

"Oh forget about your court date," Sherlock snapped as they approached South Bank Skate Park.

Raz led them under, where all of the walls were spray painted within an inch of their life.

"If you wanna hide a tree in the middle of a forest, this is the best place to do it, wouldn't you say? People would just walk straight past, not knowing, unable to decipher the message," Sherlock grinned, oh this was getting really fun.

"There," Raz pointed to one of the graffitied walls, "I spotted it earlier."

Sure enough, among the mass of tags and doodles lay the yellow cipher showing the Chinese numbers.

"They _have_ been in here," Sherlock turned to Raz, "And that's the exact same paint?"

"Yeah," Raz nodded looking pleased with himself.

"John, Alex, if we're going to decipher this code, we're gonna need to look for more evidence," Sherlock declared and swooped off again.

Alex growled in frustration and, stifling a yawn, she set off after him.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock wait!" she called tiredly as she ran to catch up with him along the train line.<p>

"Hurry up then!" he threw over his shoulder, never breaking his long strides.

Alex managed to fall into step with him.

"What are we doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for more evidence, I told you."

Alex nodded and scouted the floor for anything that could be useful. A battered yellow spray can lay abandoned on the line. Alex ran to pick it up.

"Look!"

Sherlock took the can, giving his torch to Alex to hold. He turned it over and over in his hands and sniffed the nozzle.

"What _are_ you doing?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Sherlock just gave her a look as she stifled another yawn. He put the can in his inside coat pocket and straightened up.

"Onwards."

They carried on passed a poster covered wall and Sherlock ripped the corner of one of and stored it in his coat with the can. Alex felt her eyes drooping. She hadn't inherited the Holmes I-don't-sleep-for-days-then-hibernate-for-a-week-just-because-I-can gene. She stumbled on her feet and had to grab onto the wall to steady herself.

"Come on," Sherlock sighed, squatting down so that she could climb on his back, "Before you fall asleep standing and head butt an oncoming train or something similar."

Alex wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood up, taking her with him.

"Sounds like something I would do," she mumbled sleepily.

Sherlock gave a brief smile.

She buried her face in his scarf and closed her eyes.

"I could just get a cab back to Baker Street you know," she suggested.

"A murderer has already been in your room once, I am not letting you go back on your own," Sherlock said.

"Guess who's sleeping on the sofa tonight," Alex grinned.

She drifted in and out of consciousness, barely aware of anything but the soft material of her Uncle's coat when she heard John's voice.

"Answer your phone! I've been calling you! I've found it," he panted, clearly out of breath from running.

Alex had to quickly grasp onto the collar of Sherlock's coat to stop her from falling when he set off into a full out sprint, apparently forgetting about the half asleep girl clutching onto his back.

"Hold on, will you," Sherlock snapped but showed no signs of slowing down.

"Yeah, bit late," she giggled back to him.

They came to an abrupt stop at a blank wall and Alex felt herself being lowered to her feet.

**How was that? Okay?**

**Review!**

**-Abby**

**x**


	12. The Blind Banker - Part 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Answer your phone! I've been calling you! I've found it," he panted, clearly out of breath from running._

_"Yeah I figured," she giggled back to him. The feeling of going at that speed without actually moving her legs was quite exhilarating._

_They came to an abrupt stop at a blank wall and Alex felt herself being lowered to her feet. _

John looked at the wall in shock.

"It's been painted over!" John exclaimed as Sherlock shined his torch over the wall, "I don't understand. It-it was here. Ten minutes ago. I saw it. A whole load of graffiti!"

"Somebody doesn't want me to see it," Sherlock said and moved over to John. He grabbed the sides of his head in his hands.

"Hey, Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked indignantly.

"Shush, John, concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Close your eyes."

"No, what? Why? Why?!"

Sherlock grabbed John's arms in a tight grip

"What are you doing?!" John asked again, confusion etched over his face.

Alex just propped herself up against the wall and tried not to nod off.

Sherlock began to spin John and him around slowly, staring fixedly into John's confused eyes as he had done to Alex earlier that day.

"I need you to maximise your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you picture it?"

"Yeah."

"Can you remember it?"

"Yes, definitely," John said, certainty laced in his voice.

"Can you remember the pattern?" Sherlock pressed.

"Yes!" John cried.

"How _much_ can you remember it?"

"Well, don't worry-" John began but Sherlock cut him off.

"Because the average human memory on visual matters is only sixty-two percent accurate."

"Yeah, well, don't worry – I remember all of it," John reassured his friend.

"Really?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, well at least I would," he wrestled free from Sherlock's spinning grasp, "if I can get to my pockets! I took a photograph."

He held out the phone to Sherlock to see and sure enough, the picture showed the wall was littered with many yellow ciphers.

Sherlock looked mildly embarrassed as John sighed and turned away. Alex just watched the scene, barely registering what was going on.

* * *

><p>Back at 221B Baker Street, Alex was laid out on the couch, trying not to fall asleep while John was hardly succeeding to do the same at the dining room table. Sherlock, as usual, was wide awake and alert, staring at the pictures of the wall that had been printed out.<p>

"Always in pairs," he said, startling John and Alex out of their almost asleep state.

"Hmm?" John squinted up at him.

"Numbers come with partners."

"God, I need to sleep," John muttered blankly.

Alex nodded

"Why did he paint it so near the tracks?" Sherlock asked to himself more than anyone else.

"No idea," Alex answered, snuggling her face further into the not-quite-comfortable-but-good-enough couch.

"Thousands of people pass by there every day."

Alex ignored him, waving her hand for John to take over.

"Just twenty minutes," he murmured back, his hand propping his head up.

Alex rolled her eyes and pulled herself up to a sitting position. Sherlock would probably throw a harpoon out of the window if they missed him being clever because they were _both_ asleep.

"Of course!" Sherlock exclaimed, making Alex and John jump, "He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back," he began to run his fingers over the photograph, "Somewhere here in the code…"

He suddenly ripped the photos off the wall, causing Alex to jump again.

"We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao," Sherlock declared as he spun on his heel, papers in hand, and dashed out of the door.

"Oh good," John drawled sarcastically.

Alex sent him an amused look,

"Come on," she said, holding out her hand.

He took it and allowed her to haul him to his feet. She smiled tiredly and motioned for John to lead the way after Sherlock.

* * *

><p>A wide awake Sherlock, a less awake Alex and a completely exhausted John stood in the museum with Andy in the same display room that they had first met him in.<p>

"Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them messages in the Hangzhou numerals," Sherlock told him seriously.

"Soo Lin Yao's in danger. Now, that cipher – it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well," John continued.

"Look, I've tried everywhere: um, friends, colleagues. I-I don't know where she's gone. I mean, she could be a thousand miles away," Andy stuttered desperately.

Sherlock's gaze drifted from Andy to something just over his shoulder.

"Sherlock? What're you looking at?" Alex asked.

"Tell me more about those teapots," Sherlock said to Andy as he walked over to the cabinet bearing the artefacts.

"Th-the pots were her obsession. Um, they need urgent work. If-if they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble. Apparently you have to just keep making tea in them."

Sherlock leaned in closer to the glass, his breath fogging it up.

"Yesterday, only one of those pots was shining. Now there are two," he paused. "Awfully good of you to help us Andy," Sherlock said with a smile as he shook Andy's hand.

"O-oh, that's fine. Aren't you going to find out where she is?" Andy asked in confusion.

"Oh yes! We have a few leads that suggest that she may be in Cardiff. We're heading over there now aren't we John," Sherlock said, a huge smile still plastered onto his face.

John looked at him with a blank expression. Sherlock gave him the subtlest of nods as Andy's full attention turned on John.

"Um… Yes, yes. Cardiff, yes," he said unconvincingly.

Alex almost face-palmed when Andy nodded, taking their word for it and turned to walk back to his desk. Alex twisted to face her uncle.

"What are you doing?"

He just infuriatingly tapped his nose and motioned for John and her to follow him back through the entrance and onto the concrete path. Instead of going down the steps into the morning rush, he turned a sharp left into the alleyway where they had encountered Raz painting his masterpiece 'Urban Bloodlust Frenzy'. Sherlock stooped to a worn and old looking door.

"Sherlock, what-" John began but was cut off by the sound of his friend ripping the door off its hinges.

Alex and John looked at him with blank shock.

"Oh come on, it was rotting away, it's hardly a difficult feat," Sherlock scoffed.

He climbed in and as his shoes disappeared, there was a moment of silence. Just as Alex was about to go and see if he was okay, his head popped out from where he had just disappeared.

"Are you coming then?" he asked rudely.

John rolled his eyes and followed him in. Alex stood in the morning air alone and contemplated following them. She could go back to the flat and have a nap for a while. But then she remembered Sherlock's words earlier about having a murderer in her room and that idea was instantly shot down. A hunt around in the dark wasn't something she fancied doing in her state. Just as she had decided that she would go and visit Molly, a sudden movement caught her eye. A Chinese woman with a camera peeped from around the corner and a large flash blinded Alex for a moment as the camera captured a picture of her.

"Hey!" she shouted heatedly and skidded around the corner to confront the woman. However, all she was met with was thin air. The woman had simply disappeared.

"What the hell?" Alex muttered.

She scanned the area. Not many people were around since it was early morning, only workers piling into the buildings surrounding the square. Alex spun around, her hair whipping wildly behind her to try and see the mysterious lady.

It wasn't like there was anything behind her at the time that the woman could be taking a picture of like an innocent tourist. She was the only thing in that dusty alleyway so the only thing the woman could have been snapping a picture of was Alex.

Suddenly, to left of her, Alex saw someone in a hoodie, pocketing a camera that seemed identical to the Chinese woman's. She could see black hair poking out from under the hood and made a snap decision. She bolted off across street over to next to the benches and pulled back the hood of the woman.

Only it wasn't the woman. It wasn't even _a _woman. It was a teenage boy. A very pissed off teenage boy. Scratch that, a very, _very _pissed off teenage boy.

"What do you think you are doing?!" he fumed.

Alex stuttered, "Uh… um…"

She saw that he was getting increasingly angrier.

"See, I was just checking… because you look like a friend of mine and- and I wanted to," Alex began but saw that the boy was having none of it, "No? Not going to work?" she sighed, "Plan B."

Alex took off at a sprint and sensed the youth close behind her. She slipped into the alleyway and dived into the small door that Sherlock and John had gone through. Because her turn was so sudden, the boy had to double back as he missed it. That gave her time to disappear without him seeing where to.

She felt cold metal on her palms as she shimmied down a thin narrow pipe. It was completely pitch black and I don't mean a-little-bit-dark-but-okay or even dark-but-can-make-out-faint-outlines, I mean this-is-bloody-fricking-dark-I-can't-see-a-hand-in-front-of-me.

"Sherlock," she whispered into the dark.

There was no reply. She carried on shimmying.

"Sh-"

Suddenly, the floor fell from beneath her hands as she recoiled to scurry backwards.

"Sherlock?" she called again.

"Just drop, it isn't far, I'll catch you," her Uncle's deep voice commanded.

"No way," she immediately refused.

"Alex," he said a little bit sterner.

She groaned and placed her hand down the hole. She felt around on the dark and jumped when she felt Sherlock's curly hair brush her fingers.

"You better catch me," she warned.

"I promise."

Alex nodded, blew out a breath and slid down into the darkness. She fell only for a second before she felt Sherlock's strong arms wrap around her waist and under her knees.

"Told you," he said and she could almost hear his smirk.

"Where are we?" she asked as he set her down.

"In a disused cleaner's cupboard," she heard John mutter bitterly.

"And what exactly are we doing here?" she asked.

"We need to wait. Soo Lin Yao has been back here to the museum in the last day: you saw those pots. We need to be patient and stay in here so we won't get kicked out by security when the museum closes," Sherlock explained.

"But closing time isn't until nine o'clock tonight," Alex reminded him.

"Yes um…" he began sheepishly, "Well, she will most likely wait for cover of darkness to get in."

Alex groaned.

"Sherlock, it's early morning. We're going to be waiting here all day!"

"That is exactly what I have just been saying," John grumbled.

"What are we going to do for food?"

"Oh, I brought snacks for you two," Sherlock defended as he rustled around in his pockets and pulled out two lunch boxes full to the brim of food.

"How the hell did you get all of this?!" Alex exclaimed as she pulled out her mobile and shone the camera light into the room.

"Let me guess," she interrupted before her Uncle could begin, "Homeless network."

Sherlock nodded proudly at his homeless network. They came in so handy.

"How come they don't have enough money for a council flat, yet they bring you a three course meal every time you ask for it?"

"I do plenty for them," he said.

"Yeah, you gave them my MP3 player," Alex muttered.

"Oh get over that will you," Sherlock said as he sank to the floor.

"No! I was seven and it was my pride and joy and you gave it to a drugged up alcoholic!"

"What happened?" John asked with an amused smile as he also sat down opposite her.

"Well, he was on a case and I was at home. I didn't really go out on them that much when I was younger, only to Lestrade or Molly. Anyway, I was at home in the old flat watching telly, when _this _oaf," she pointed to Sherlock, "blunders in shouting about music. I was of course used to his outbursts of weirdness and just patted his head and turned back to the TV. The next thing I know, I hear the door slam and I go up into my bedroom and find my whole bedroom ransacked. I obviously didn't know what had been taken so I just put everything back and thought nothing more of it. The next day, I went shopping with Molly and as we were walking down the street, this homeless man barges into me and drops whatever he was carrying. I naturally picked his stuff back up when I found a purple MP3 player amongst his stuff. I shrugged it off, I mean how many purple MP3 players are there in the world? But as I handed it back, I saw a label saying PROPERTY OF ALESSANDRA HOLMES on the back of it. That narrowed the field considerably. When I asked him where I got it, he told me that he had given it to a curly haired lunatic with a long coat. Hmm, I wonder who that could be?" she asked in mock thought, looking at Sherlock questioningly, "Got any ideas, dear uncle?"

"It helped solvea murder!" he cried.

"Yes, and it also nearly_ caused_ your murder!"

John just looked on at the scene with a smile. They really were quite the comedy duo.

Sherlock and Alex huffed in sync.

There were a few minutes of silence.

"I bet you can't beat my high score on flappy bird," Alex commented casually.

"You can't seriously think that," he answered immediately and grabbed her phone.

The unmistakable tune filled the poky cupboard.

"Hey John, the game really is on," Alex giggled.

John burst out laughing.

**Bit of something to lighten the mood.**

**Drop a review to let me know if you like this story so far.**

**-Abby**

**X**


	13. The Blind Banker - Part 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

_Previously:_

_"I bet you can't beat my high score on flappy bird," Alex commented casually._

_"Game on," he answered immediately and grabbed her phone._

_The unmistakable tune filled the poky cupboard._

_"Hey John, the game really is on," Alex giggled._

_John burst out laughing._

Sherlock had his face almost squashed against the phone as he tapped and tapped and tapped and tapped and tapped-

"NO!" he growled.

He threw it down.

He looked at it.

Picked it back up and tapped and tapped and tapped.

That was basically the vicious cycle that had snatched Sherlock Holmes from his sanity. Alex watched in amusement at first but then her eyes began to droop. She tried to lean against her uncle but his sudden movements and cries of despair proved to be counterproductive. She shuffled over to where John was dozing and rested her head on his shoulder. His jumper was warm and comfortable and being asleep meant that one did not lurch and spasm every two seconds to save a flying bird like a certain detective opposite her.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked her, never taking his eyes off the screen.

"Sleeping," she muttered back.

"On John?"

"Yes… he's my friend. Like he's your friend," Alex said slowly.

Sherlock's lips twitched upwards, "I'm glad you like him."

"He's not a dog. Anyway, it would just be cruel if I didn't. We would have to get rid of the only person, save me, that can handle you," she whispered cheekily.

He tutted at her, and that was the last thing she heard as sleep finally claimed her.

As Sherlock died for the seventy seventh time, he threw down the phone. He spent the next few hours in silence, just listening.

It was two hours later that he was rewarded. A small rustle. It was now ten twenty seven. All of the visitors and workers had left hours ago.

"John, Alex," Sherlock prodded them awake.

"Wh-" he clamped a hand over Alex's mouth and brought a finger to his lips.

A scuffle was heard again.

"Soo Lin Yao?" John whispered.

Sherlock nodded and carefully walked over to the door at the other side of the room. As gently as he could, he lifted up the metal latch and winced as it creaked slightly. The scuffling continued unaware however. Sherlock inched the door open, allowing a thin glimmer of light to seep through into the dim room. He held up his hand at John and Alex. They nodded and stayed put as Sherlock pressed himself as far as he could to the wall and slipped out of the room.

Sure enough, sat alone in the dark of the museum, was Soo Lin Yao working on her tea pots. She poured the tea over the pot and watched as it cascaded over the sides. She swilled the rest around, the only noise that of gently whooshing water.

Sherlock stepped out of the shadows and stalked over to her. Just as she picked the tea pot back up, he decided to speak.

"Fancy a biscuit with that?"

Soo Lin Yao screamed in shock and the tea pot fell from her quaking fingers. Sherlock reacted instantly and bent down on one knee to catch the artefact in the palm of his hand without spilling a single drop of the tea that it held inside of it.

"Centuries old. Don't wanna break that," he said.

He slowly straightened up from his crouched position and handed the teapot back to her. She hesitantly held out her hand and took it, seemingly weighing him up in her mind as he reached out and flicked a switch on the desk, turning on the lights underneath. He smiled slightly at her.

"Hello."

He suddenly sighed.

"John, Alex, you can come out now," he drawled as the two figures emerged from their hidden position of behind the doorway.

"She told me to," John said instantly, pointing at Alex.

Sherlock's accusing eyes turned to his niece.

"I heard a scream," she defended.

Her uncle rolled her eyes and turned back to Soo Lin Yao. As John and Alex walked over to them both, Alex muttered, "Snitch."

John just gave her despairing glance as they sat down opposite Soo Lin Yao on the table.

"You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me," she said grimly.

"You've been clever to avoid him so far," Sherlock complemented.

"I had to finish ... to finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

"Who is he? Have you met him before?" Sherlock asked.

She nodded, "When I was a girl, living back in China. I recognise his ... 'signature'," Soo Lin cringed at the word.

"The cipher," Alex said.

"Only _he_ would do this. Zhi Zhu," she sucked in a sharp breath and Alex felt a sudden shiver, like someone had just walked over her grave.

"Zhi Zhu?" John frowned.

"The Spider."

Soo Lin lifted up her foot and rested in on her opposite knee. She untied her shoes laces and pulled down the back to reveal a sheer black tattoo of a lotus flower inside a circle on her heel.

"You know this mark?" she asked Sherlock.

"Yes. It's the mark of a Tong," he said.

"Hm?" John and Alex asked at the same time.

"Ancient crime syndicate based in China."

John nodded.

"Every foot soldier bears the mark; everyone who hauls for them," Soo Lin's face flashed with regret.

"'Hauls'?"

Soo Lin just looked at him sadly as his eyes widened in recognition.

"You-you mean _you_ were a smuggler?" he asked in disbelief.

Soo Lin looked down in shame,

"I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except to work for the bosses."

"Who are they?" Sherlock questioned.

"They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds' worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England," she smiled briefly; "They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life."

"Then he came looking for you," Sherlock deduced. Alex felt that feeling again but shook it off as the cold autumn nights.

Soo Lin's eyes filled with unshed tears as she gave a small nod.

"I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away," she continued tearfully, "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen."

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Alex's neck stood up on end and she looked over her shoulder. She could almost feel eyes burning the back of her head, but the room was empty, just them and the darkness.

"And you've no idea what it was?" John asked Soo Lin, referring to the stolen item.

She shook her head, "I refused to help."

John leaned further forward onto the desk.

"So you knew him well when you were living back in China?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she looked up at Sherlock, "He is my brother. Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets like beggars. My brother has become their puppet; in the power of the one they call Shan – the Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

Alex felt the need to run. There was something wrong. Very wrong. She could sense it. Sherlock picked up on his niece's agitation but put it aside for the moment. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the photographs of the ciphers on the wall near the train tracks that had previously been stuck to the mirror. He laid them on the table.

"Can you decipher these?" he asked, watching Soo Lin keenly.

She leaned over to get a better view of the pictures.

"These are numbers," she said.

"Yes, I know."

"Here," she pointed to one of the photos, "the line across the man's eyes – it's the Chinese number one."

"And this one is the number fifteen," Sherlock said, pointing to a different one, "But what's the code?" he pressed.

"All of the smuggler's know it. It's based upon a book-"

The lights suddenly cut out, plunging them all into darkness. Alex instinctively reached around for Sherlock, him unbeknownst to her, doing the same. He caught onto her wrist and pulled her to him.

"He's here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me," Soo Lin whispered softly, her feminine tones laced with terror.

Sherlock promptly pushed Alex into John for him to keep safe and dashed out around the door.

"Sh-Sherlock. Sherlock, wait!" John called as he was delivered with a teenage girl.

"Sherlock!" she shouted.

John circled his arm around Alex's shoulders and grabbed Soo Lin's hand.

"Come here."

He pulled the two across the room rapidly and into a store cupboard.

"Get in. Get in!"

Alex fell in after Soo Lin.

Sherlock sprinted across the large open foyer with a staircase at each end and a grand balcony surrounding the floor above. He stopped in the middle of the floor and whipped his head around, looking for Zhi Zhu. Suddenly, flying from the right, a figure ran across the balcony and fired a pistol at Sherlock. Sherlock span on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction, throwinghimself to the floor and sliding along it to take shelter behind a statue. Sharp cracks whistled through the air as more bullets were whizzed around in his direction. He was mercifully guarded by the statue to be in the firing line.

John's head snapped up to the sound of gunfire and his eyes took on a steely glint. He turned to the girls.

"I have to go and help. Bolt the door after me," John said urgently in hushed tones.

As he turned to bolt after Sherlock, Alex caught hold of his sleeve.

"Be careful," she told him, staring intently into his eyes.

He nodded and squeezed her hand before taking flight out of the cupboard. Alex did as she was told and pulled the stiff bolt across on the door. She turned to Soo Lin.

"Don't worry. They will sort it out. They're the best there is."

Soo Lin smiled, but Alex noticed that the smile had an echo of sadness around it.

"You are a kind girl."

Alex sat down next to her and propped her back up against one of the unused desks. Soo Lin faced her seriously.

"And that is why you have to stay."

Alex frowned at her in confusion.

"What do you mean? We're both staying here."

Soo Lin shook her head.

"He will not give up. I will never be free again. I have to go," Soo Lin said, her eyes glistening.

Alex's eyes widened and her hand shot out to pull the young woman back.

"No, stay here. Sherlock and John _will _sort it out. They'll catch your brother and you'll be free," Alex tried to convince her.

"If only that were true," Soo Lin shook her head.

"Soo Lin, listen to me. Stay right here and don't go out there," Alex hissed.

She flinched as another gunshot rang through the air and she could only hope that Sherlock and John were okay.

Soo Lin placed a cold and trembling hand against Alex's cheek.

"和她呆在一起," she whispered and prised her wrist out of Alex's now slack grip.

"Soo Lin, no," Alex went to go after her, but something seemed to catch on the hood of her jacket, and she was pulled backwards, like someone had yanked her.

Alex scoured the cupboard, but found no one behind her. The sound of a door slamming snapped her attention back to the cupboard door. That Soo Lin had just left through. Alex was left trapped in a sickening silence.

Soo Lin Yao stood behind her desk in the restoration room. A small breeze caused the papers on the desk to lick up delicately and fall again like the rising of a chest. She took a shuddering breath and turned to face her brother.

"亮," she greeted tenderly, "大哥."

She traced his face with her hand affectionately, her own face turning desperate.

"请你," she pleaded softly.

Alex screwed her eyes shut as she heard the fatal shot. She clamped her hands over her ears and tried to block it out. Soo Lin Yao was dead.

John stopped still in the corridor that he was in when he heard the crack. His head snapped to the direction of the sound (reflexes learnt in the army) and his face fell.

"Oh my God," he murmured in horror as he barrelled towards the restoration room, Sherlock catching up beside him. They burst through the doors and found Soo Lin Yao sprawled out on the floor, a black origami lotus flower in her pale, lifeless upturned palm.

"Alex?" Sherlock called.

John suddenly realised what Sherlock was thinking.

"Alex?" he also shouted.

Sherlock turned to John with plain panic on his face,

"Where did you hide them?" he asked.

"Uh… I," it had all happened so fast.

Sherlock shook his friend's shoulders roughly.

"John! Where did you put her?!" Sherlock's voice went up an octave.

"In the cupboard!" he cried back as his mind began to work again.

Sherlock sped off to the cupboard behind the screens and kicked in the door.

"Alex?!" he bellowed.

He scurried around behind shelves and statues, his hands shaking before he made out the shape of his niece huddled behind a desk. He bent down and kneeled in front of her.

"Alex?" he said.

She seemed to snap out of her reverie.

"Sh-she is dead isn't she?" she whispered in a small voice.

John came and stood at Sherlock's shoulder, immensely relieved that the girl didn't have a scratch on her. He nodded solemnly.

"I knew. She t-talked to me. She said what she was going to do," Alex said emotionlessly, her face blank. She looked up at John. "She said something in Chinese. I-I don't know Chinese."

Sherlock held out his hand, "Come on, stand up."

With a somewhat confused expression, she allowed him to pull her up. However, as he began to lead her out, she stopped still.

"There's someone here," she whispered, still in shock. "Someone pulled me back."

Sherlock looked around in the darkness, and John turned on the light.

"There's no one here apart from us, Alex," John said gently. "You're in shock."

"No," she said firmly. "S-someone held me back or I would've… she would wouldn't have… she wouldn't be…"

Her voice cracked.

"We need to go home, Alex. You'll feel better," Sherlock said.

"I feel fine," she insisted, though her eyes were glassy. "We need to wait until Dimmock gets here. We can't just leave her."

"They're on their way, but you need to–"

"Don't tell me what I need to do!" Alex ripped her arm from his hold. "I know what I need to do! We need to wait."

"She's dead, she won't mind," Sherlock said, perhaps a little insensitively.

John cleared his throat to show that that was a 'bit not good'.

"We didn't leave Mum," Alex said coldly, and Sherlock looked down to his feet.

Before he could say anything else, Alex had pushed past him and out of the cupboard door, to where Soo Lin laid. Looking down on her, Alex wanted to close her eyes, but knew that she couldn't touch her. They knew what had happened, but she still couldn't contaminate the crime scene.

Alex knelt beside her, leaning back against the table leg, waiting. It took Dimmock twenty minutes to get there. When he did, Alex went and stood in the corridor out of the way. After a few minutes, John came out to meet her.

"Sherlock's just talking to Dimmock. Are you okay?" he asked, watching her closely.

"I should have stopped her."

"She'd made her mind up. You couldn't have done anything."

Alex ran a hand through her curls, "I'm usually okay with bodies. I just never get to speak to them first. God, she was so young, just like my mum. She was only twenty-four. I couldn't stop that either… What has Sherlock told you about his sister?"

"Not much. Just that she had you young, and she committed suicide when you were six and then he took you in," John replied quietly.

"Did he tell you I found her?" Alex asked with a bitter smile.

John's eyes softened in sympathy and he shook his head.

"I came downstairs just before she died. She was _just _barely alive. I looked into her eyes, and I knew then that she didn't want to do it. I ran up to her and tried to get the knot out and get her down, but I couldn't. She just told me she was sorry and… stopped, really. I remember all of my fingers were bleeding," Alex grimaced. "I should have known I wouldn't be able to untie one of her knots. The ones she put in my trainers wouldn't come out for months."

John put a hand on her shoulder, "I don't know what to say, Alex."

She gave him a reassuring, yet pain-filled smile, "Don't worry. No-one ever does."

Dimmock came out into the corridor and spotted Alex. He seemed to have softened from how he was when he first met her. Perhaps it was seeing Soo Lin lying there that made everything quite real for the young detective. Suddenly, squabbling over who could go where seemed unbelievably petty. Nevertheless, he had to enforce his rules.

"I know you've had a shock, but I must ask you–"

"Don't worry," Alex cut him off. "I'm going."

"I'll come with you," John said, straightening up.

"No, stay with Sherlock. I'll be fine. I'll go straight home, I promise."

John looked reluctant.

"There are more important things than babysitting me right now," she reminded him.

He nodded, conceding to her thinking and let her leave, telling her that he would inform Sherlock of where she was going.

True to her word, Alex went straight back to Baker Street. She surprised herself by keeping her composure for this long, but as soon as the door was shut, she allowed herself to let out the sob she had been holding in for little over an hour. She slid down the wall, tears streaming down the creases between her fingers as she covered her face to stem the noise.

She could have stopped it. She could have saved her.

The thing was, she didn't know who she was talking about. Soo Lin or her mother. It was eating away at her, gnawing at her conscience.

But she couldn't talk to anyone about it. Like she said to John, no-one ever _did _know what to say.

**Please review!**


	14. The Blind Banker - Part 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously: _

_True to her word, Alex went straight back to Baker Street. She surprised herself by keeping her composure for this long, but as soon as the door was shut, she allowed herself to let out the sob she had been holding in for little over an hour. She slid down the wall, tears streaming down the creases between her fingers as she covered her face to stem the noise._

_She could ha__ve stopped it. She could have saved her._

_The thing was, she didn't know who she was talking about. Soo Lin or Maybelline. It was eating away at her, gnawing at her conscience._

_But she couldn't talk to anyone about it. Like she said to John, no-one ever did know what to say._

Alex eventually calmed down enough to be able to remove her hand from her mouth, convinced she wasn't going to be heard by Mrs Hudson or the neighbours anymore. She walked to the kitchen sink and splashed some water onto her face, forcing herself to take even breaths.

It had been a while since Alex had been alone in the flat. It seemed so silent. But it wasn't a relaxing silence, it was a loud, ringing one. It put her on edge.

Alex went to the window and pulled back the curtain, resting her flushed cheek on the cool glass. That was enough to calm her anxiety. She watched people milling around outside, only retreating back into the room when she spotted someone staring at her from the pavement. No doubt she looked quite strange with half of her face squashed up against the glass.

She dropped onto the sofa and closed her eyes, trying to sleep.

* * *

><p>John ran after Sherlock as he flagged down a cab.<p>

"Scotland Yard," Sherlock ordered. The driver nodded once and John barely had time to shut the door behind him before the car jerked into life, its engine spluttering at the sudden ignition. Soon, the old looking car was chucking down the road at 10 mph.

"Can you go any faster?"

"Sorry, this is the fastest she'll go."

"Next time, I pick the taxi," John whispered to Sherlock so as not to offend the driver.

"I was in a rush," Sherlock mumbled.

John sat back and watched as the cocker spaniel that had been walking behind him as he left the museum actually overtook them.

"This is ridiculous."

Sherlock made a face and pretended to imitate John in a high pitched voice.

"Next time I pick taxis, Sherlock your thumbs are in the microwave, Sherlock we don't need any more milk, Sherlock you cannot go on my laptop, Sherlock you haven't moved all day, feelings Sherlock, bit not good Sherlock, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag. You are the wife of the household."

John rolled his eyes as they pulled eventually pulled up at Scotland Yard. The driver actually gave John an apologetic glance as if to say 'out of all of the drivers with competent cars in the whole of London, you had to pick me.' John shrugged it off and raised an eyebrow as the cab stalled and stuttered down the tarmac. Sherlock impatiently grabbed him by the cuff of his jacket and pulled him into the station. They approached the main desk and Sherlock just barged past the woman there as she opened her mouth to speak. She gave him a look of disbelief of his lack of manners (which he pointedly ignored of course).

"I'm sorry about him," John apologised, "We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade- I mean Detective Inspector Dimmock."

The stern faced woman gave a small nod and motioned behind her.

"Well there you go, your boyfriend seems to know the way," the woman said, her lips pressed into a thin line in displeasure.

John didn't even try to dispute the term boyfriend and settled for a sheepish grin as he sidestepped the policewoman and entered Detective Inspector Dimmock's office. Inside, Dimmock himself began to busy himself with various useless papers and files, basically trying to ignore Sherlock.

"How many murders is it gonna take before you start believing that this maniac's out there?" John asked angrily, the man's attitude ticking him off, "A young girl was gunned down tonight. That's three victims in three days. You're supposed to be finding him."

Dimmock continued to ignore them both. Sherlock felt it his time to intervene and leaned in,

"Brian Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers – a gang called the Black Lotus operating here in London right under your nose."

"Can you prove that?" Dimmock asked snobbishly.

Sherlock straightened up and gave him a look of loathing and turned on his heel out of the door. John ran to get in front of him and flagged down a decent cab. John gave Sherlock a smug look as the vehicle smoothly halted and didn't make the questionable grinding noise of the previous one.

"Where to, mate?" the driver asked.

"St Bartholomew's Hospital," Sherlock ordered as he slipped in.

"Why are we going to Bart's?" John enquired.

Sherlock turned to him from where he was looking out of the window at the passing buildings,

"To get Lukis and Van Coon's bodies. Hopefully, they should both have the mark of the Tong," Sherlock explained.

John nodded and silence fell over the car for a few moments.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Where do you know all of this stuff from?" John queried.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion.

"All of this. The mark of the Tong. How could you have known that you would need to know that? If that makes any sense at all."

"You are right John, that didn't make any sense at all," Sherlock commented casually.

John exhaled,

"What I mean is, how can you seem to know absolutely everything?"

"Because I _do_ know everything," Sherlock said smugly.

"Sherlock," John groaned.

Sherlock smirked, "I have a mind palace."

John looked at him blankly.

"A mind _palace_?"

"Yes," Sherlock said simply, not seeing what the big issue was.

"Like a Roman Room?"

"Oh, that horrible name for it. Like I said, Mind Palace, it sounds more majestic. I store the things that I need in certain files and rooms so whenever I may need them, all I need to do is go to that file or room and everything will be there," Sherlock finished.

John looked at him in astonishment.

"I thought you were all out of surprises," he muttered.

"Well," Sherlock drawled, "Where is the fun in that?"

John just shook his head at him with a smile as the taxi pulled up outside St Bart's.

The boys walked up to the canteen (where Sherlock had deduced that Molly would be) and Sherlock put his hand on John's chest.

"Wait here," he ordered as he swanned off toward Molly who was looking at the specials board.

"What are you thinking: pork or the pasta?" he asked her from behind.

Molly jumped in surprise and jerked around to see the love of her life – in her eyes, of course.

"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed, her whole face brightening.

"This place is never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?" Sherlock remarked with an actual smile and nodded toward the board, "I'd stick with the pasta. Don't wanna be doing roast pork – not if you're slicing up cadavers."

Molly licked her lips nervously. He was actually having a conversation with her and smiling. Smiling!

"What are you having?" she inquired.

"I don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down."

She perked up once again,

"So you're working here tonight?" she asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone of voice.

"Need to examine some bodies," Sherlock replied airily.

"'Some?'"

"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis."

Molly looked down at the clipboard that she was holding and skimmed down it. She knew she had heard those names before.

"They're on my list."

Sherlock turned to her, switching on his most innocent and pleading face.

"Could you wheel them out again for me?" he asked in a meek voice.

"Well… the paperwork has already gone through," she started apologetically.

Sensing that he would have to take a different approach, he switched his tactic and scooted his eyes up to Molly's hairline.

"You've ... changed your hair," he pointed out.

"W-what?" she stuttered nervously.

"The style: it's usually parted in the middle."

"Yes, well…" she trailed off lamely.

"Mm, it's good; it, um, suits you better this way," he complemented with another smile.

Molly blushed heavily and turned back to the board with a flustered smile.

Sherlock's smile immediately dropped, the second her back was turned and ignored his phone when it vibrated in his pocket.

* * *

><p>Alex groaned as she came to her senses. She felt a thick, warm duvet around her body and her head propped up by a firm pillow.<p>

"Hello dearie," the chirpy voice of Mrs Hudson sounded.

Alex blearily opened her eyes and searched for the grandmother figure in the room. Her gaze rested on the woman who was perched on the armchair opposite her.

"Hey Mrs H," Alex greeted sleepily.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Came up and you were dead to the world."

"Great," Alex lied. There was no point worrying Mrs Hudson at all.

Thankfully, the elderly lady just accepted the fib and turned back to the television.

"Look at this, gas explosion up in Scotland, killed four people it has. One of them was only seven," Mrs Hudson sighed sadly and began to ramble on about other misfortunes that had been broadcasted on BBC News.

Alex nodded and sighed and 'I know-ed' in all of the right places but her mind couldn't really focus or concentrate on much. She kept getting flashes of Soo Lin's face, the feel of little fingers clawing against rope. Each one made her want to throw up, run away, and scream all at the same time.

Alex knew it would get better in time though. She had phases like this, not that she let on to anybody. Growing up with the Holmes brothers that could read her like a book, meant that she had to learn to mask her emotions and over the years, she had become an expert on it. She hadn't thought that she would break down like that. She hung her head.

Mrs Hudson picked up on Alex's dejected mood and flicked the channel onto Connie Prince. Even though Alex wasn't into things like makeup and clothes, she quite liked to guess how much certain things were and loved when Mrs Hudson and her would have a competition to see how close they could get to the actual price. The winner of each outfit would get a Cadbury's Éclair.

"So how much do you think that this blouse is worth?" Mrs Hudson asked seriously.

Alex broke from her thoughts and flicked her eyes to the screen.

"Um… I would say fifty pounds," she guessed slowly.

Mrs Hudson nodded, "I think I'll go a little bit higher with seventy pounds."

They both knew that the shirt in question was nowhere near as much as that and it was blatantly obvious that Mrs Hudson was letting Alex win to cheer her up.

"And the turquoise blouse rolls in at, drum roll please… forty eight pounds and thirty pence!" Connie exclaimed from the TV.

Mrs Hudson pretended to grumble as she threw Alex one of the sweets from her pocket. Alex caught it without looking and began to laugh at the woman's efforts. She really did love Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson had a hard time keeping her sulking face in place when she heard Alex laugh.

"Alright, Illl beat you this time around," she promised and turned back to the TV.

Tally board-

Mrs Hudson: IIII IIII II

Alex: IIII IIII IIII

"I swear Alex, you have a gift," Mrs Hudson muttered sullenly.

"You are only three behind me Mrs Hudson," Alex reasoned.

A catchy tinkling of the opening tune meant yet another round of guess the price. This time, it was a pair of designer jeans.

"I think those are fifty pounds," Mrs Hudson said confidently.

"Oh no, I think they're twenty pounds," Alex announced.

They both knew that Alex was trying Mrs Hudson's earlier technique but they both made a silent promise not to mention to each other that they had both caught on. The elderly woman couldn't help a warm smile as Alex feigned disappointment when it was announced that the jeans were in fact sixty pounds.

The next two rounds passed the same way and they turned the TV off when they both reached a draw at fifteen each.

"Well that was eventful," Alex commented as she sunk further back into the sofa.

"You could say that, dearie," Mrs Hudson laughed softly and stood up, "Well, I must be going, I have to catch up with Yvonne and Ramona down the road. Her granddaughter has just had a baby you know," Mrs Hudson said as she gathered her coat.

"Bye Mrs H. Thank you for cheering me up," Alex expressed sincerely.

"Oh it was no problem, dearie," she brushed off, "Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"I'll be fine," Alex reassured the woman, "I'm going to start my new Stephen King novel, I think. I haven't had a chance to pick it up recently."

"Well don't give yourself nightmares," Mrs Hudson called up from the stairs.

Alex grinned and pulled out 'The Shining' from the shelf conveniently behind the sofa that she was laid on. _Let the terror commence._

* * *

><p>Sherlock walked through the corridors of the hospital and entered the morgue, closely followed by Detective Inspector Dimmock. Inside, Molly was stood hovering over two body bags that were laid on two tables next to each other. She unzipped one of the bags to show the lifeless face of Brian Lukis.<p>

"We are only interested in the feet," Sherlock told her.

"The _feet_?" Molly furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Yes. D'you mind if we have a look at them?" Sherlock didn't wait for an answer and just led Dimmock over to the other end of the body bag where the outline of Lukis's feet jutted out. Molly obliged obediently and unzipped the bag and pulled open the sides to reveal the feet. Sherlock pointed to an identical black lotus tattoo as the one Soo Lin Yao had shown on the bottom of his right foot.

Sherlock's face split into a smug grin.

"Now Van Coon."

Molly unzipped Van Coon's body bag at the feet and pulled back the edges. Of course, a duplicate of Brian Lukis's and Soo Lin Yao's tattoo rested on his right heel.

Dimmock sagged in defeat. There was no disputing it this time when the evidence was right in front of his face.

"So…" he began awkwardly.

"So either these two men just happened to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlour or I'm telling the truth," Sherlock finished for him impatiently.

"What do you want?" Dimmock sighed in submission.

"I want every book from Lukis' apartment and Van Coon's," Sherlock demanded.

"Their _books_?" Dimmock asked incredulously.

Sherlock gave him a stiff nod and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Dimmock put his hands up in surrender and shuffled out, knowing better than to start an argument with his only chance of catching a murderer.

Sherlock ignored the buzz of his phone as it rang for the second time and just turned back to the tattoos on the feet. He gazed at them thoughtfully.

The phone ceased its buzzing for only a second before it began again. Sherlock checked the caller ID.

_Mycroft Holmes._

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tapped decline. There was a time and a place. Actually, with Mycroft there was never a time nor a place.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading,<strong>

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	15. The Blind Banker - Part 10

_Previously:_

_Sherlock ignored the buzz of his phone as it rang for the second time and just turned back to the tattoos on the feet. He gazed at them thoughtfully._

_The phone ceased its buzzing for only a second before it began again. Sherlock checked the caller ID._

_Mycroft Holmes._

_Sherlock rolled his eyes and tapped decline. There was a time and a place. Actually, with Mycroft there was never a time nor a place._

Sherlock and John walked up the stairs of 221B after their journey to St Bart's Hospital, new ideas running through both their heads. John craned his neck in the doorway before they both entered to see if Alex was there or not. She was in fact laid with her head comfortably propped up against the armrest, reading a book.

"Hello Alex," John greeted.

"Hey John, hey Sherlock," she replied, infinitely brighter than before.

"I'll go and make some tea," John announced and wisely shut the kitchen door to give the family some privacy.

Alex watched him go and then turned back to Sherlock, "That means he wants us to talk."

"Yes, he's done that a few times now."

Alex hummed her agreement, and there was a pause.

"The Shining, eh?" Sherlock said, reading the cover of her book. "You aren't sleeping in my room tonight."

Alex closed the book with a mischievous smile on her face, "I seem to recall that it was someone else who couldn't sleep after watching the Shining…"

"That was all your mother," Sherlock quickly defended. "She was the one who wouldn't sleep so she made me sleep in her room, which had the bigger bed."

"Really?" Alex asked, amused.

"Really."

Alex nodded, taking the story with a disbelieving smile.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked after a pause, watching his niece intently.

She gave him a grin.

"Yeah, Mrs Hudson cheered me up."

Sherlock gave a soft smile and sat next to her.

"Good," he said.

Alex bit her lip nervously and shuffled slightly further away from her Uncle.

"I'm sorry for… you know…" she stammered. "Talking to you like that. I didn't mean to. I was just being a…"

"Brat?" Sherlock supplied jokingly.

"Yeah."

"You weren't. It isn't your fault, Alex. I know you've probably spent the last few hours convincing yourself otherwise, but it isn't. Both Soo Lin Yao, _and _your mother; it was their choice."

Alex looked down at her bare feet and avoided eye contact.

"I'll be fine," she said, unable to think of what to say to that.

"What can I do to speed that up?" Sherlock asked, locking his mobile as it began to ring.

"Answer your phone for a start," Alex smiled.

"It's just Mycroft, it doesn't really matter what he has to say. Probably begging me to help him stop World War Three," Sherlock shrugged.

Alex rolled her eyes.

"Go and answer it Sherlock, it may be important," she told him.

"If it is _that_ important, he would realise that I'm deliberately not answering the phone and he would text me," Sherlock reasoned.

As luck would have it, as soon as the words left the man's mouth, his phone vibrated twice screaming text alert.

Alex grimaced, "I think he heard you."

"I swear I got all those cameras," Sherlock muttered, looking around the room.

"Well, evidently you didn't," Alex said, getting to her feet. "Now while you talk to Uncle Senior, I'll go help John with the 'tea'."

Sherlock shook his head at her in mild amusement, opening the text from Mycroft.

**Sherlock, stop being so childish and answer my calls! What's wrong with Alex? – MH**

**Go away; I am dealing with it. She's fine – SH**

**Of course she's fine, it is completely normal for her to leave a crime scene alone, take a cab back to Baker Street, then be sat almost crying against the window – MH**

**Stop spying on her! You think you're protecting her, but you'll just push her away. Surely even someone like you can see that? – SH**

**Stop avoiding my question. I'm guessing it has something to do with the murder that just occurred at the National Gallery? – MH**

Sherlock ground his teeth together. It seemed that the only way he could possibly get rid of his brother was to just tell him outright.

**The woman who was killed was with Alex just beforehand, and Alex couldn't stop her when she went to face the murderer. It brought back memories of her mother – SH**

The phone was silent for a moment, where Mycroft was supposedly having trouble composing the consequent message.

**Perhaps it would be better for her not to be around that – MH**

**You think I haven't thought of that? – SH**

**And? – MH**

**It's what she wants to do. I slipped up, but I have kept her safe for this long and she enjoys it. She seems to be recovering already, anyway – SH**

**That isn't the point – MH**

**Then what exactly is your point? – SH**

There was a brief period of quiet, in which Sherlock could almost feel Mycroft glowering at him.

**Tell her she's staying with me tonight – MH**

**If I must - SH**

"Alex!" Sherlock shouted.

Alex popped her head around the door, a blob of jam on her nose.

"Jam?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, John's stopped making 'tea' and is now making toast," she waved off dismissively.

"Are you staying at Mycroft's tonight?"

She paused.

"Could you tell him that I'll be around tomorrow, I just want to stay at home today. Oh, and did you ring the school?" she suddenly remembered the fact that she should have been at school the whole day.

"It's sorted, don't worry. I'll inform Mycroft. Now go and make whatever you're making and remember to put the food on a plate, not around your face."

"Hm, plate and face almost rhyme. You are an almost poet and you almost know it," she trailed off thoughtfully and turned back into the kitchen.

**She wants to stay here today but will arrive at your abode tomorrow – SH**

**Okay, brother. Look after her as always – MH**

Sherlock didn't give him the justice of answering that. Sherlock flipped his phone shut and threw it on the armchair opposite him.

Alex took this time to burst out of the kitchen with more strawberry jam matted in her hair than on her burnt toast. Nevertheless, she sat down with a grin and beamed proudly at her work.

"You do know that it's only toast, don't you, not caviar served on a silver platter? And you've burnt it," Sherlock commented as he stretched back lazily.

"It is the extent of my culinary skill, don't knock it," she defended and tried not to grimace as the quite horrifically tasting charcoal hit her tongue.

"How's that?" Sherlock asked innocently.

"Great," Alex lied through gritted teeth.

John watched in amusement as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Good. Well go on, eat up. Don't let me spoil your appetite!" Sherlock encouraged with a snide smile.

Alex brought another slice of 'toast' (the term used loosely) to her mouth and crunched down. She was pretty sure that most of Baker Street shook at that point. She chewed the 'food' and forced a smile even though it was like gnawing on a patch of old carpet.

"I can't take this anymore," John gave in, "Shall I make you some edible toast?"

Alex looked outraged, "This is edible!"

John raised an eyebrow disbelievingly at her.

"Fine," she grumbled and held out the plate to him, "Cheers."

John grinned and turned back into the kitchen.

Alex rolled her eyes and flopped back into the cushions when John entered back with some sandwiches.

"You broke the toaster," John replied to her questioning glance at her lack of toast.

Alex grinned sheepishly and took the sandwich from the top.

"Not even going to ask how I managed to do that."

"Best not."

"So, the Black Lotus then, this mysterious criminal organisation," Alex spoke through a mouthful of ham.

Sherlock's face contorted in disgust at the sight but answered anyway, "Not just a criminal organisation; it's a cult. Soo Lin's brother was corrupted by one of its leaders."

"She said the name didn't she, at the museum. Sh… Sh- something," John recalled.

"Yes, Shan; General Shan," Sherlock finished for his friend.

"We're still no closer to finding them," Alex piped up, making sure to swallow any food this time.

"Oh come on Alex, you know better than that. We've got almost all we need to know. She gave us most of the missing pieces."

Alex just looked at him blankly. Sherlock circled his hand slowly in encouragement, but his niece's vacant expression never lifted.

"Honestly," he muttered, "Why did he need to visit his sister? Why did he need her expertise?"

"She worked at the museum," John helped.

"Exactly."

Alex suddenly caught on,

"She was expert in antiquities. Mmm, of course. I see!"

"Give the girl a medal," Sherlock said sarcastically, "Not just any antiquities though, _valuable _antiquities. Ancient Chinese relics purchased on the black market. China is home to a thousand treasures hidden after Mao's revolution."

"And the Black Lotus is selling them," John concluded.

Sherlock's face clouded with thought and he seemed to draw into himself (no doubt treading the glistening halls of his Mind Palace).

"Alex, go get my laptop," he ordered, his eyes never losing their distant unfocus.

John was slightly unnerved by his friend's almost possessed face but Alex (having gotten more than used to it) just huffed (as any teenager) and climbed over the back of the sofa to retrieve the said laptop. After removing a decomposing hand from the lid, she placed the device in Sherlock's lap. He immediately jerked out of his Mind Palace and stared down at the screen. It whirred into life and Sherlock tapped on the internet, John coming over to join him on the corner of the armrest.

Alex was about to kick the hand beneath the sofa again when an idea struck her.

"Check for the dates…" Sherlock told John as he clicked on and scrolled through an auction site for Asian art.

"Here, John. Two Ming vases," Sherlock continued, pointing at the pottery, "Arrived from China four days ago."

He looked down at the Sale Information.

"Anonymous. Vendor doesn't give his name. Two undiscovered treasures from the East," John muttered.

_Now._

Alex tossed the hand and laughed loudly when it hit John directly in the face. He spluttered and almost dropped his tea in shock.

"Alex, no throwing body parts at John," Sherlock droned disinterestedly, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"What did you do that for?" John choked incredulously.

"Well, I couldn't throw it at Sherlock, he wouldn't even flinch," she smiled. "Plus you said my cooking was terrible. I can't forgive that."

John shook his head at her, muttering 'lunatic', and went to put the hand in the bin with a grimace. As he sat back down, Alex perched herself on Sherlock's armrest so she could see the screen.

"What were you saying before I so rudely interrupted?"

"What I was _saying _was that there was one of these Ming Vases in Edward Van Coon's suitcase and one in Brian Lukis's."

"Type in 'Chinese Antiquities Sold at Auction' in the search bar," Alex suggested.

Sherlock obliged and brought up the page.

"Look, here's another one," John pointed out.

"Arrived from China a month ago: Chinese ceramic statue, sold for four hundred thousand," Sherlock murmured.

"Four hundred thousand!" Alex exclaimed.

"Ah, look, if you think that it a lot: a month before that – a Chinese painting, half a million," John shook his head in disbelief.

"All of them from an anonymous source. They're stealing them back in China and one by one they're feeding them into Britain," Sherlock breathed.

"And every single auction coincides with Lukis or Van Coon travelling to China," Alex added as she consulted Lukis's diary that was on the coffee table and the printed out timetable belonging to Edward Van Coon.

"So what if one of them got greedy when they were in China? What if one of them stole something?" Sherlock suggested excitedly and Alex couldn't help but feel a buzz in her chest too. It was like a mystery novel.

"That's why Zhi Zhu's come."

Before the conversation could go any further, Mrs Hudson walked in.

"Hey, Mrs H! How's the baby?" Alex asked politely.

"Oh, she is gorgeous. Big blue eyes she has got, reminded me of my granddaughter. But then of course I was still with my husband. Well, the least said about that the better eh?" Mrs Hudson rambled.

Alex shot Sherlock an amused look.

"Look at me getting off track as usual. Stop talking Mrs Hudson!" she laughed to herself.

"I'm under the impression that you came up here to tell us something Mrs Hudson," Sherlock steered her on course again.

"Oh yes dear, right. Well, I was on my way up and-"

"Get to the point," Sherlock snapped impatiently.

Alex sent him a reproachful look.

"Sorry," she took a breath. "Are we collecting for charity, Sherlock?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow,

"What?"

"A young man's outside with crates of books," she flailed her arms to emphasise her point.

"Alex go and help carry them up," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

"Why me?" she groaned.

"Because you are the youngest, now move."

"This isn't Victorian London you know Sherlock," Alex retorted hotly but rose to her feet nonetheless.

"Oh if only it were. Instead of my homeless network, I could have the workhouse children. They would hear all sorts around the factories. I might begin to use you as one of my spies, children attract far less attention," Sherlock muttered.

Alex just nodded and headed out the door. She came to an abrupt halt as she realised what her uncle had just said. She turned on her heel to face John.

"Did he just insinuate sending me to a workhouse?" she frowned.

John looked between the pair and nodded slowly.

"Yeah… I think he did."

Alex opened her mouth as if to say something then shut it again. She shook her head, muttering,

"I don't even want to know," as she descended the stairs to sigh at the mountain of books that she had to carry up. Mrs Hudson patted her shoulder consolingly but retreated to her flat as her hip conveniently starting aching. Alex turned back to the crates and blew out a long, deep breath. Ah, the joys of Baker Street life.


	16. The Blind Banker - Part 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey everybody! Chapter sixteen up and running. I spent quite a bit more time on this chapter to make sure that it was perfect so I hope you all like it!**

**Enjoy-**

_Previously:_

_"Did he just insinuate sending me to a workhouse?" she frowned._

_John looked between the pair and nodded slowly._

_"Yeah… I think he did."_

_Alex opened her mouth as if to say something then shut it again. She shook her head, muttering,_

_"I don't even want to know," as she descended the stairs to sigh at the mountain of books that she had to carry up. Mrs Hudson patted her shoulder consolingly but retreated to her flat as her hip conveniently starting aching. Alex turned back to the crates and blew out a long, deep breath. Ah, the joys of Baker Street life._

Alex leaned against the door frame, a thin layer of perspiration coating her forehead. Not to mention that the jam that she had somehow gotten into her hair from her toast making escapades earlier was beginning to set and go like a rock.

_Only two more crates to go… only two more crates to go_.

John passed her, holding an armful of books and burning a hole in the back of Sherlock's head with his glare.

"You could always help us you know. You have been sat watching us slave away for about half an hour now," John said as he purposely threw down the hardbacks incredibly close to Sherlock's toes.

"John, with the greatest of respect, shut up. I'm thinking," Sherlock advised coldly and went back to steepling his fingers under his chin.

John rolled his eyes, vowing that he would find the heaviest hardback there was and 'accidently' trip and hit him in the face with it. John's features must have given away his scheming for Alex snorted in agreement as she turned and forced herself back down the stairs to the front door.

Alex took a deep breath and heaved up the second from last crate into her arms. Her limbs wobbled under the hefty weight. Strength was not exactly her forte; she was more built for flight rather than fight. She gritted her teeth and tried to shift the burden onto her knees as she proceeded back up the steps. The plastic was digging into her palms and she began to mutter just so she wouldn't end up throwing the stupid thing back down to the door and out onto the pavement.

She heaved it into the room and collapsed against it when John set off down for the last one.

"You are making a mountain out of a molehill," Sherlock commented from the sofa.

"I would love to shove your head down a molehill," Alex grumbled under her breath, "What are we actually doing with these books anyway?"

Sherlock jumped up from his sitting position and flipped up a book into his hand. He beckoned her over to him.

"The numbers are references," he told her.

"To books?" John asked, catching the tail end of the conversation as he slammed the door shut and joined the pair.

"Yes, to specific _pages_ and specific _words on_ those pages," Sherlock emphasized.

"Right, so ... fifteen and one: that means ..." John looked at Sherlock for him to continue but it was Alex who answered.

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read. Right?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Okay. So what's the message?" John inquired.

"That depends on the book," Sherlock snapped, "That's the cunning of the book code. It has to be one that they both owned."

Alex swept her gaze over the mountains of books in despair.

"Well that won't take long then," John remarked sarcastically.

Alex walked over and flipped open the lid of one of the crates to reveal about fifty books.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she groaned and picked the first one off her pile up as the boys did the same.

_King of the Castle _by _Susan Hill._

Fifteenth page… first word.

_Truce._

Nope.

Next book-

_I am David _by _Anne Holm_

_Pace._

Not this time.

_The Crucible _by _Arthur Miller_

_Also._

"We're in for a long night," Alex sighed.

* * *

><p>Once she had gotten to book seventy two, her vision was starting to blur and the words seemed to blend into each other. Her head was beginning to pound and she could barely think.<p>

"Sherlock, I'm going in the bath to get this gunk out of my hair but I'll be back soon," she said and stumbled towards the bathroom. Sherlock barely lifted his head, just grunted in consent and picked up another book.

Alex stripped off her clothes still from yesterday and hung her pyjamas over the radiator so that they would be warm for her to put on after her soak, something which was unusual in the flat.

She purged the taps and waited for the old pipes to rattle into life. Soon enough, hot water began to spurt into the tub and steam slowly started to accumulate in small puffs of dancing condensation. Alex dipped her toe in and smiled in satisfaction when the temperature was just right. She slipped under the water and let the warm liquid submerge her body up to just under her nose.

Her headache immediately ceased with the soothing rippling and she closed her eyes. All of the weight on her shoulders elevated and evaporated like the toasty water that surrounded her. The whole outside world seemed a million miles from her little bubble. All of the anxiety was just a muffled thumping on the other side of an insulated wall, blissfully disjointed from her consciousness. Her mind was slowing down like a machine having the switch pulled and the last cogs just gradually grinding to a halt.

Alex's eyes began to flutter shut and her limbs went limp as she slipped out of consciousness. She sunk under the water, the level coming over her eyes. In her slumber, she tried to breathe in, only for her lungs to fill with water. Reflexively, she snapped awake and shot her head up out of the water, coughing and spluttering to rid herself of the choking water. Her arms thrashed as she struggled to breathe but soon managed to take a deep, shuddering breath as the water cleared. She regulated the rise and fall of her chest and propped herself up against the handrail as she climbed out.

_Well that wasn't the best of ideas. Of all the things for me to die of, being shot, stabbed, strangled, poisoned, all of which had already or will at some point be attempted, it would have to be me who drowns myself in the bath._

She patted herself dry with the laundered towels (courtesy of Mrs Hudson) and slipped into her pyjamas. Her hair was wet and dripping all over the carpet so she wrapped it up and placed the towel made turban on the top of her head. She sleepily shuffled back into the living room to find the boys in the exact same position. Feeling slightly more refreshed than before her shower, Alex pulled the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa around her shoulders and picked up another book. And another book and another book and another book and another book.

* * *

><p>Tiny glimmers of the dawn's sunlight seeped through the crack in the curtains, causing little fractions of dust particles to illuminate. Alex shifted her sleepy gaze to John at the sound of his alarm clock on his watch.<p>

"John, make it shut up," she mumbled as she threw another book onto the reject pile.

John obligingly flicked the beeping watch and it fell silent at his touch.

"Urgh, I have to be at the surgery in twenty minutes," he groaned and stood up to go and have a shower.

"Work… how dull," Sherlock stated.

Alex looked startled at his voice. Those were the only words he had spoken all night and she had ashamedly forgotten about his presence in her immersion within the depths of Van Coon and Lukis's books.

"He has to work, Sherlock. Not everyone can freelance like you," she said as she threw her still damp towel in the general direction of the kitchen.

"Why not? Anyway, we will have more than enough money when we solve this case."

Alex shrugged, seeing his point and rubbed her eyes.

"Tired?" he asked without looking up from the book in his hand.

"No, I'm dandy," she snarked sarcastically.

"Always so aggressive," Sherlock shook his head in mock sadness.

"Yeah, well I did grow up around you and most of London's murderers so what can you really expect?" she countered.

John took this moment to regress into the room, fiddling with his top button.

"Why did you have to keep us up this late Sherlock? I'm sure Alex has school," John complained.

The book slipped out of Alex's hand as she froze at the prospect.

"Relax, Alex. I told them that Aunt Muriel died," Sherlock passed off.

"Who's Aunt Muriel?" Alex wrinkled her nose as she tried to recall the estranged aunt.

"Exactly."

Alex grinned and picked up the next book.

_50 Shades of Grey _by _E.L James_

She shuddered and threw it down onto the reject pile without opening it up. She felt that her innocence would evaporate on the spot if she did. What were Edward Van Coon and Brian Lukis doing with a book like that anyway? That was what she wanted to know. What was really worrying about it though, were the number of post it notes marking different pages...

The corners of John's lips twitched upwards in amusement as he saw the book title and Alex's reaction to it.

"Well I had better be going, I don't want to be late for my first day," John turned and left through the door.

"Good Luck!" Alex called as she heard him reach the bottom step.

"Cheers!" came the reply and a short click of a door.

Alex sighed and tried a new tactic, lying down and having the book horizontally and then she could read it while-

The _Word-Search Wonder _book fell to the ground with a gentle thump. Alex had fallen asleep the moment that her head made contact with the cushion.

Sherlock groaned as he lost his only remaining help but couldn't help but smirk slightly at the sight.

* * *

><p>The surgery was bustling with activity, but not the kind of in-out job-done service that you would expect. Hoards of angry and not so patient patients milled around, trying to catch the flustered receptionist's eye.<p>

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she apologised over and over again.

"But we haven't got anything now 'til next Thursday," she repeated as more and more patients huffed exasperatedly and complained at the service.

Sarah popped her head out of her door, alerted by the noise. She immediately saw the rabble and chaos and made her way over to the receptionist.

"Um, what's going on?" she asked and apologised after standing on a lady's foot.

"That new doctor you hired – he hasn't buzzed the intercom for ages," the receptionist whispered in hushed tones so as not to let on to the patients.

"Let me go and have a word," Sarah smiled kindly.

"Oh thank you," the receptionist said.

Sarah turned back and weaved through the sea of irked people waiting to be seen by their doctor. Sarah knocked once on the door of John's room.

"John?"

There was no answer from the inside.

"John?" she called more forcefully.

There was still silence and Sarah gently opened the door. She was greeted with a sleeping John, his head propped up on his hand, and softly snoring.

Sarah sighed, half in irritation that she would have to cover his patients as well as her own but also partly in the fact that John looked especially cute while sleeping. She bit her tongue to stop herself from giggling like a school girl and quietly backed out of the room.

* * *

><p>A now fully awake John walked into the surgery lobby seven hours later and threw his coat onto his back as he approached Sarah.<p>

"Um, looks like I'm done. I thought I had some more to see," John frowned in confusion.

"Oh, I did one or two of yours," Sarah passed off casually.

"One or two?"

"Well, maybe five or six," Sarah relented.

"I'm sorry. That isn't very professional," John apologised sincerely.

"No. No, not really."

"I had, um, a bit of a late one," John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh, right," Sarah looked startled.

"Anyway, see you," John waved goodbye and turned to leave.

"So, um, what were you doing to keep you up so late?" Sarah couldn't resist asking.

John stopped and turned back to her.

"Uh, I was, err, attending a sort of book event," John replied. It wasn't really lying, just conveniently missing out the part of doing it to solve a murder.

"Oh. Oh, she likes books, does she, your ... your girlfriend?" Sarah asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant voice.

"Mmm? No, it wasn't a date," John corrected her.

"Good," she said just a bit too quickly.

She rapidly blushed and stuttered to cover her slip-up.

"I mean, um ..."

John saved her the embarrassment by cutting off her no doubt rambling trip to nowhere with a smooth, "And I don't have one tonight."

Sarah beamed, her eyes lightening up immensely at the thought of a date with John. John just grinned back at her, seeming enormously cool as he swaggered out of the surgery, unknowingly impersonating Sherlock's confident strut. As soon as he was around the corner and out of sight of the surgery, he dropped his impersonation and punched the air in glee. _Oh yeah, John Watson for the win._

* * *

><p>Back at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes threw down another blasted book. He had to admit, things were not going as well as he had hoped. <em>Time to try a different approach.<em>

He sauntered past a still sleeping Alex and stood at the bookshelf.

"A book that everybody would own," he muttered to himself.

His hand immediately lunged for the Oxford Concise Dictionary, the Holy Bible and another well-worn book. He placed them on top of one of the upturned crates (kicked over by Alex in her frustration) and took the Oxford Concise Dictionary first and flicked through it until he reached,

"Page fifteen. Entry one."

_Add._

He picked up the Complete Medical Encyclopaedia next.

_Nostrils._

He placed the Encyclopaedia next to the Dictionary and picked up the Holy Bible.

_I._

Sherlock groaned in anguish and ran his hands through his hair when John entered the flat.

"I see she finally succumbed to the temptation," John chuckled, pointing at Alex's sleeping form.

"Yes… she gave in a few hours ago."

There was a moment of silence that of course could only be broken by the theatrics of Sherlock Holmes.

"I need to get some air. We're going out tonight," Sherlock declared dramatically.

"Actually, I've, err, got a date," John grinned smugly.

"What?"

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun," John explained as if to a small child.

"That's what I was suggesting," Sherlock said.

"No it wasn't ... at least I _hope_ not," John added as an afterthought.

"Where are you taking her?" Sherlock pretended to be interested.

"Err, cinema," John replied.

"Oh, dull, boring, predictable," he handed John the piece of poster that he had ripped off near the train line whilst on the search for the cipher, "Why don't you try this?"

John took the paper and glanced over it. The words 'Yellow Dragon Circus' were printed in block capitals across the top.

"In London for one night only," Sherlock added, hoping that little snippet of information would sway John.

John chuckled and handed back the poster,

"Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice."

Sherlock knew better however and internally grinned to himself in pride. Manipulation had always been his forte.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Huntress111111, Revella, rycbar15, Kell-Bells34, E.I Cochrane, tinuviel21, Xin0Lan for reviewing!<strong>

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	17. The Blind Banker - Part 12

_Previously:_

_John took the paper and glanced over it. The words 'Yellow Dragon Circus' were printed in block capitals across the top._

_"In London for one night only," Sherlock added, hoping that little snippet of information would sway John._

_John chuckled and handed back the poster,_

_"Thanks, but I don't come to you for dating advice."_

_Sherlock knew better however and internally grinned to himself in pride. Manipulation had always been his forte._

Alex groaned and swatted as hard as she could at the annoying prodding that had disturbed her sleep.

"Ow!" Sherlock exclaimed in surprise more than anything.

"Next time it will be your face if you don't leave me alone," she threatened, her eyes still screwed together.

Sherlock stood up to his full height and put on his strictest voice.

"Alessandra, get up now."

"Seriously?" Alex snorted and turned over on her side to face the back of the sofa.

"I don't have time for this," Sherlock muttered, and walked into the kitchen.

He let the cold tap run until it was absolutely freezing and filled a glass up with it. He stalked over to the back of the sofa and slowly began to tilt the glass horizontally. The liquid inside sloshed up the sides and the tiniest drop dripped onto the mass of curly hair beneath it. The hair acted as blanket between the water and skin so Alex didn't feel the first drop. Or the second drop. Or the fifth, sixth, seventh-

"ARRGH!" she screamed and shot to her feet, locking her limbs in place when the freezing water slithered down her back.

"What the hell are you playing at?!" she screeched shrilly.

Sherlock winced at the high pitched squeaks emitting from his niece but replied calmly,

"You wouldn't co-operate. Now go up and get dressed, we are going out."

Alex stomped her foot childishly,

"Where?"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

"I honestly have no idea."

"What did I rip off the wall when you were dead to the world on my back?"

"I don't know, like you said, I was dead to the world," Alex said none the wiser.

"Don't try my patience Alessandra," Sherlock warned in frustration.

Realising that her Uncle was being serious, she stopped being childish and cast her mind back to two nights ago.

"Um… oh! That thing… Yellow Dwarf… No Yellow Dragon Circus!" she remembered.

"Got there in the end," he mocked and shoved her up the stairs, "Go on and make yourself presentable."

"You sound like Mycroft."

Sherlock put a hand to his heart in mock grief.

"You wound me deeply."

Alex shook her head and went to do as she was requested. Not that she was going to get dressed up however, you never know when you may need to run from lunatics and it definitely gives you an advantage if you don't have a mini skirt and broken heels.

She threw on a pair of black leggings and a long, baggy checked shirt so that nothing could restrict her movements since she was sure that Sherlock had some ulterior motive to going to the circus other than just for enjoyment.

"Are you ready yet?" Sherlock called from the front door of 221B.

"We have to wait for John!"

"Oh, John's already there," Sherlock replied.

Alex frowned and popped her head around the bannister to face her uncle.

"Why did he go without us? Have you upset him?" she asked with a sigh.

"No! Why do you always assume that I have upset someone?" Sherlock defended.

"Because you always do. Now going back to my original question, John is…" she motioned for Sherlock to continue.

"He is with his date," he grumbled unhappily. How could his blogger be off gallivanting with girls in the middle of a case?!

"You mean that we are gate crashing his date?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock, we can't do that!" Alex cried.

"Why not?"

"Because they are on a date!"

"Yes, I know, I told you not five seconds ago. We need to go anyway, this could be vital to the case," Sherlock finished.

"But… fine. But we stand away from them and give them some privacy, okay," she pointed her finger at Sherlock with a warning look on her face.

"Ooh, look who the mini Mycroft's now," Sherlock taunted, earning himself a clip behind the ear as they proceeded onto the pavement and called a taxi.

Sherlock groaned as he saw the same battered, paint peeling, snail paced taxi from earlier mount the curb with strenuous effort and a faint crack.

"Hello again mate," the cabbie greeted cheerfully.

Alex looked at Sherlock questioningly but climbed into the back.

"Yellow Dragon Circus, please," Sherlock announced and sat next to his niece.

The taxi gave an awful lurch, throwing the occupants forward and crashing into their seatbelts.

_Maybe I just have a really bad choice in taxis, _Sherlock thought.

Meanwhile, Alex leaned back once the taxi was steadily trundling along and thought back to the last time she had been to the circus. That was one of the best days of her life, before the worst day of her life.

_May Holmes laughed heartily as she watched her five year old daughter cling to Sherlock's back as he carried her cross the car park. Alex had been excited all the day before to arrive at the ominous satin tent that had been erected in their neighbourhood the previous week. She had insisted the three of them go, which had proved harder for May to arrange than she first thought. Some major bribery later, she had managed to wrangle Sherlock and Mycroft to come too._

_"Mum, can I have some money for candy floss when we get in?" Alex asked, her big cobalt coloured eyes pleading up at her mother._

_"I'm sure Uncle Mycroft will be able to fork out for some candy floss," Maybelline said, raising her eyebrows at her older brother._

_Alex turned to her uncle who was standing next to her mother._

_"Is that okay Uncle Mycroft?"_

_"I suppose so," he said with a sigh, producing a two pound coin seemingly from nowhere._

_She grinned and thanked him, bounding back over to Sherlock._

_"Look what Uncle Mycroft gave me!" she waved the two pound piece proudly._

_Sherlock looked at his brother to see a smug smile sitting on his face. Time to knock that off. Maybelline rolled her eyes at her older brothers fondly as the competition began._

_Sherlock pretended to rub his nose._

_"Are you getting hay fever?" Alex asked innocently, her face etched with cute concern._

_"It is November. People don't get hay fever in the winter," Sherlock explained to her._

_Alex's face took on one of dumbstruck shock, as if someone had told her that fairies were living under her bed, or as if someone had told her that Santa Claus wasn't real. _

_"Are you getting a cold then?" Alex tried._

_"No, I think I just need to sneeze."_

_Sherlock cupped his hands around his face as he pretended to sneeze. He removed his hands to reveal a five pound note fluttering between his fingers._

_"Oh, how did that get there?" he asked Alex in mock thought._

_Alex cried happily and jumped in glee when he held out the note for her to take._

_"I have two magic uncles!" she exclaimed._

_She added the note to her little purse and looked down at the contents._

_"So now I have… um…" she trailed off._

_"Mycroft gave you two pounds and I gave you five pounds," Sherlock sent his brother a cocky grin, "So what is two add five?"_

_Alex frowned and counted her fingers._

_"There are five on one hand. And two here. So, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven!"_

_Sherlock ruffled her black curls and she pranced over to Mycroft._

_"See, Uncle Mycroft, I _can _count. You have to take back calling me an idiot earlier."_

_Mycroft winced, not daring to look at his sister, instead congratulating her and holding out his hand for a high five (something Alex had taught him the previous week)._

_Alex was slightly surprised by the action (high fives weren't really very Mycroftian) but went to slap his hand with her own. Her eyes widened as she felt something fall into it just before she made contact. She looked down and was greeted by a ten pound note folded in her palm._

_"Wow! Mum, look!" Alex held out the stash of money._

_"Oh wow, you have enough to buy half the sweet cart!" Maybelline exaggerated to her daughter._

_"Really?"_

_"No."_

_Alex pouted but quickly grinned again once she heard music from inside the tent. People were beginning to arrive now and a crowd was starting to form. _

_Sherlock hoisted Alex up further onto his shoulders and kept a tight hold on her so she wouldn't be swept away by the hundreds of people that were beginning to swarm. _

_They stopped at the candy floss stall and Alex paid for it with the two pound coin. She grinned and dived into the cloud of pink, still firmly planted on Sherlock's shoulders._

_"Enjoying that are we?" Sherlock asked in amusement as Alex smacked her lips noisily._

_"Very much," she beamed, tearing a bit off and placing it in Sherlock's mouth._

_He almost flinched at the sweetness but as it melted on his tongue, he realised that it actually tasted okay, not like the plastic tasting Gummy Worms that he had been introduced to._

_"Just don't get any in my hair," Sherlock said as they came to a standstill behind the admittance cue._

_Alex shared a guilty look with Mycroft and gently tried to brush the pink fluff from Sherlock's curls. Mycroft smirked._

_"Can we play something?" she asked._

_"What do you want to play?"_

_"Deductions," she grinned readily._

_Sherlock winced._

_"What?" her mother asked._

_"Deductions. Like when you three look at someone and see who they are," Alex explained._

_"And which deductions do you know?" Mycroft asked, giving Sherlock a glare._

_"You three always talk about them when you think I am asleep. You say things like she is the murderer! Or he killed the old lady! Or she's sleeping with her brother! Or they are all goldfish! Or he's a little shit!"_

_"Alex!" the three Holmeses scolded at once._

_"What? I am only repeating what you said! It isn't swearing if you are just repeating," Alex defended._

_Sherlock smirked._

_"Anyway, what is wrong with goldfish? I like them, they go bob, bob, bob, bob," Alex made popping faces with her mouth and crossed her eyes._

_"Accurate description of the one we were describing," Mycroft muttered with a smile._

_"And also," Alex started and they all grinned, "I don't see anything weird about sleeping with your brother."_

_Maybelline disguised her laugh with a cough as the brothers reined in their mirth._

_"You slept on the sofa with Uncle Sherlock and me when you weren't feeling well that night._

_The mood immediately dampened (apart from Alex, who was still looking around in awe, oblivious to the reaction she had caused)._

_"What do you remember about that night, Alex?" Maybelline asked hesitantly._

_"Nothing, I was asleep until we reached Uncle Mycroft's," Alex said simply and resumed her task of picking non-existent lint from Sherlock's coat._

_The adults immediately relaxed and they handed over their tickets. The sound of gaudy music reached Alex's ears and she clapped excitedly, looking around at her Mother and Uncles._

_Blissfully unaware of how little time she had left with the former._

Alex was pulled out of her memory by Sherlock clicking his fingers in front of her face.

"We're here. What's got you so daydreamy?" he asked as he paid the taxi driver and opened the door.

"Oh, just reminiscing," she answered vaguely as she also climbed out and stood by her Uncle underneath an array of scarlet and gold Chinese Lanterns that were hanging from the canopy over the entrance.

"About the circus?" he guessed.

Alex nodded distantly.

"Do you remember?" she inquired.

"Of course. I couldn't feel my shoulders for two days afterwards."

Alex grinned.

"I remember getting loads of money. How much did you two lose competing against each other by the way?"

"I lost one hundred and twenty and Mycroft lost one hundred and fifty," Sherlock laughed as he recalled the memory.

Alex laughed, "That day was great. Mum was actually happy…" Alex trailed off, wishing she had never brought up the subject.

Sherlock smiled sadly and held out his hand.

"Come on, for old time's sake."

Alex took his hand inquisitively and screeched in glee when she was pulled up and settled on her uncle's shoulders. She grasped onto his hair to stop herself from slipping.

"I am not as light as I used to be you know," she laughed.

"Just don't hit your head on the door. You certainly didn't get the tall gene, thank God."

Alex closed her eyes and tried to imagine the music, the mouth-watering smell of hotdogs, the fluffy candy floss dissolving on her tongue. When everything was bright and happy. Alex tried not to linger on just how much things had changed, as she and Sherlock entered the Chinese circus.


	18. The Blind Banker - Part 13

**Disclaimer: Still not owned unfortunately, all goes to the BBC**

**Author's Note: Oh Lord... something did not want this chapter to be published today. First my laptop had to be updated which took an hour then the battery died while half way through so I had to reset it to a time when it was working again because it hadn't finished the update and then I lost the chapter, then I had a half hour long nose bleed and almost fainted and urghh *deep breath* rant over. I will not be rattled by the forces of the universe! I apologise for any mistakes but I am dead on my feet haha,**

**Enjoy-**

"There's John and his date," Alex pointed out the couple standing over next to the ticket booth.

"Yes, thank you for stating that Alex, because I certainly didn't notice the only other two people apart from us in an empty reception area," Sherlock snarked.

"Alright, alright. Can I get down now, my legs have gone numb?"

Sherlock helped Alex down to her feet as they made their over to the couple.

"Actually, I have four in that name," Alex heard the ticket master say.

"No, I don't think so. We only booked two," John frowned.

"And then I phoned back and got two for Alex and I as well," Sherlock announced from behind the lovebirds, causing both to jump and Alex to cringe at John's inevitable response.

"I'm Sherlock and this is Alessandra," Alex punched him in the arm "who will resort to some form of violence should you call her anything other than Alex."

Alex rolled her eyes and held her hand out to Sarah.

"Err, hi," Sarah replied, taking Alex's hand nervously.

Alex smiled brightly, putting the woman somewhat at ease. John in the other hand just groaned at his friend's antics and subtly motioned with his head to talk with Sherlock alone.

"Actually Alex, would you mind helping me find the ladies?" Sarah asked, unknowingly having the same plan as the boys.

"Sure," Alex replied instantly.

She was just happy that she wouldn't have to deal with an irate John.

Sherlock caught on to Alex's little scheme and scowled at her retreating form.

"You couldn't let me have just one night off?" John muttered.

"Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England-"

"Dressed as a tightrope walker? Come on, Sherlock, behave!" John interrupted, making sure to keep his voice low.

"We're looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look round the place," Sherlock started.

"Fine. You do that; I'm gonna take Sarah for a pint," John told him blankly and began to turn around.

Sherlock caught his arm.

"I need your help," he ordered sternly.

"I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!" John snapped.

"Like _what_?" retorted Sherlock.

John stared at him vacantly.

"You _are_ kidding."

"What's so important?" Sherlock asked in disbelief. _What is more important than a case!?_

"Sherlock, I'm right in the middle of a date. D'you want me to chase some killer while I'm trying to ..."

"What?"

John lost all patience and snapped-

The girls wandered off past a flight of stairs and into the toilets. Sarah walked over to the mirror and refreshed her lip gloss, Alex just idly sweeping her gaze over the tiles on the wall.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Sarah asked as she looked at Alex through the mirror.

"Go ahead," Alex leaned on the closed door.

"Is John…? I mean is he, oh I don't know how to put it without seeming stupid," Sarah muttered.

"Good?" Alex offered with a smile.

Sarah nodded with a fretful look on her face.

"I can assure you, John is one of the best men I have ever met and I have met a _lot _of men through my relations," Alex conveniently neglected to mention the tiny fact that most of these men had murdered at least one person.

Sarah's shoulders fell in relief and she allowed a small smile of pure happiness light up her face.

"I am guessing that you may have been on dates with men who have fallen out of the good category," Alex deduced.

Sarah gave a tiny nod and tucked a stray hair from her fringe behind her ear.

"But John isn't like that, so you don't need to worry," Alex reassured her and tried not to punch the air when she realised that that was exactly what she should have said. She was getting better with the whole comforting strangers malarkey; John moving in had definitely helped.

Sarah held her arm out to link with Alex as they emerged from the bathroom. They walked toward the stairway that Sherlock and John had gathered.

"While I'm trying to get off with Sarah!" was all that was heard as the aforementioned woman and Alex arrived at their feet.

"Heyyy," John drew out, trying to defuse the awkwardness.

Sherlock rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and motioned for Alex to follow him up the stairs and into the showing area.

Alex pushed Sherlock as far as she could away from John and Sarah and surveyed the scene.

Small, excited murmurings of the spectators that were gathered in a circle filled the dimly lit hall. A grand stage sat like a sleeping lion, apparently being unused judging by the precise ring of candles, each exactly spaced between each other on the floor in front. On the left side of the circle stood a strange shape of some description under a patterned sheet, and on the right stood a wooden board with leather straps attached to it.

Alex shuffled closer and leaned against Sherlock's arm as a light patter of a drum began. A Chinese woman walked into the centre of the circle of candles. She was exuberantly dressed in traditional Chinese clothing, all of her garments traced with gold beading. Her face was powdered white in stark contrast to the pure black eye liner that traced her eyes. Her lips were a deep scarlet and Alex immediately knew that she was the ringleader in the circus, if you could call it that.

John seemed to agree with her as she caught him mouthing, "This is not a circus, it is… art," from the other end of the ring, his face distorted in disgust.

Alex shared the same view on the topic. Art wasn't something she enjoyed. She could look at a painting and think 'that is a nice painting' and then move on with her life. The thought of spending all of that time on delicate little squiggles made her want to just hurl something at a wall. She definitely didn't have the right temperament to be an artist.

The woman walked over to the sheet over the strange object on the right and pulled the cover off, revealing a medieval looking contraption that made Alex's stomach constrict. The woman then pulled a spear with a single white feather on the end of it from a basket and showed the audience. She proceeded to place the spear into the contraption and take a feather from her ornamental headdress and delicately placed it into the bowl inside the contraption.

As soon as it made the slightest contact, the spear shot out like a greyhound on the starting gun and lodged itself into the wall. Alex jumped and gripped onto Sherlock's coat in shock. Sherlock snorted at her jumpiness.

Over the other side, Sarah had just done the same to John, who had wrapped an arm around her, and Alex mouthed 'Nicely played Jonny-Boy' when Sarah's arm stayed looped around his. John just grinned and winked at her.

A new man now dressed in a sort of war mask with chainmail like attire stepped forward out of the shadows. He was immediately surrounded by two other Chinese men who wrapped heavy metal chains and tight straps around him, strapping his folded arms over his chest. He was then backed into the wall that the spear had just been taken out of and attached to it. He grunted as the straps were tightened even more, so that he could not even breathe.

"What is going on?" Alex whispered to her uncle, never taking her eyes off the scene.

"Classic Chinese escapology act," he replied softly, "The crossbow's on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."

The woman loaded another spear into the contraption and picked up a knife.

"She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out; gradually the weight lowers into the bowl," Sherlock continued into Alex's ear.

Alex's eyes widened.

The woman plunged the knife into the sandbag that was hanging above the bowl and the tiny grains of sand began to flitter out. The man that was tied up groaned and strained against his bonds as he tried to pull himself free with brunt force. Alex found herself chanting encouragement under her breath, much to the amusement of Sherlock.

The sand was running out more steadily now and the weight was getting closer and closer to the bowl. Alex could feel the blood pounding in her ears.

In a sudden burst of power, the warrior managed to rip one of his hands free and wriggled the other from its trap also. He then proceeded to grapple with the chain around his neck. But the weight was getting closer. Alex felt her nails dig into her palms. It was so close now, mere seconds away from lodging a spear through the man's chest. He cried out as his finger fumbled with the lock.

Alex couldn't take any more and hid her face behind Sherlock.

She heard more grunting and finally the releasing of the spear. She squeezed her eyes shut and peeked around to see the Warrior bowing to the audience, barely escaping with his life. Alex laughed in relief and looked up at Sherlock.

"How the hell was that entertainment?" she breathed, still trying to calm back down after the suspense.

Sherlock just grinned. He was about to open his mouth when something suddenly crossed his mind.

"Coming?" he asked as he stalked around the outside of the candles.

"Where?" she whispered back only to get no reply.

She took her opportunity whilst everybody was occupied applauding the warrior to sneak around after Sherlock. She followed him behind the curtain and backstage where a dressing table and numerous props and costumes stood.

Sherlock motioned to her to look through the curtains at the acrobat gliding through the air holding two crimson bands.

"Well, well," she murmured.

Suddenly, a door banged open backstage and Sherlock shoved his niece behind a clothes rail before joining her himself. Alex had to grab onto one of the coat hanger to steady herself. Unfortunately, the metal screeched along the bar and the Chinese woman that had entered snapped around to the noise in alarm. Alex bit her lip and faced her Uncle who was still cool as you like. The woman shook her head as if she was hearing things and walked back out.

Alex let out a breath and allowed herself to be pulled out by Sherlock.

"A little warning next time would be better," Alex huffed.

"I will just leave you next time," Sherlock said.

Just then, Sherlock noticed a slightly open bag behind Alex.

"What is in there?" he asked her as she knelt down to inspect it.

"Um…" she pulled the zip open more to reveal canisters of yellow spray paint. Smiling, she threw one over her shoulder to Sherlock who caught it with ease.

Branded across the side were the words Michigan and Alex's mind floated back to Raz,

_"Recognise the paint. It's like Michigan; hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc."_

Sherlock shook it and sprayed a horizontal line across the mirror of the vanity unit. The paint was exactly the same as the ciphers.

It was Sherlock who saw it first in the mirror, the slight movement of the costume behind and then the jerk of the mask. Sherlock pushed Alex out of the way just in time before the masked man sprang forward and slashed at him with a curved knife.

Alex fell with a crash into one of the clothes rails and was dazed as she blinked to try and clear her head.

Sherlock dodged and ducked the blows as he leapt from side to side. They pushed against the flimsy curtain as wrestled the knife away and threw it down. He sprayed the paint in his attacker's eyes. Alex came to her senses and dashed forward to kick the knife under the unit. She kicked the man in the shins at the same time that Sherlock swung a powerful punch to the head.

The attacker fell backwards, only to leap back to his feet in an unhuman-like way. Alex watched in horror as Sherlock was propelled backwards and out onto the floor into the crowd. She knew that John would help now but she was faced with a bigger problem as the warrior turned to face her. He picked up a clothes rail and snapped it over his knee to produce a crowbar.

"Please," Alex said, backing up.

She was in no way strong enough to fight him. He showed no signs of pity however as he advanced and swiped down through the air. Alex ducked and rolled just in time for the bar to connect with the box beneath her with a sickening thud.

"Help!" she screamed and ducked from another blow.

She managed to pivot on her heel and momentarily distract the Warrior so she could run out onto the stage, him in close pursuit once he figure out her plan.

"John!" she cried.

He swung the crowbar back again and Alex accidently stepped back off the edge of the stage and landed next to a winded Sherlock on the floor. She felt his arm pushing for her to run but she had to help John now. Fortunately, that seemed to be covered as Sarah swung the handle of a broom over the Warriors ribs, causing him to fall. Sherlock used Alex to help him up and pulled off the sock of the man to reveal the black lotus tattoo, just as he had expected.

"Come on," he called and slung an arm around Alex to keep her next to him, John doing the same to Sarah.

"Sarah, you're a badass!" Alex yelled to her, beaming.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, EI Cochrane, and angelmusiclove98, for reviewing.<strong>

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	19. The Blind Banker - Part 14

_Previously:_

_He swung the crowbar back again and Alex accidently stepped back off the edge of the stage and landed next to a winded Sherlock on the floor. She felt his arm pushing for her to run but she had to help John now. Fortunately, that seemed to be covered as Sarah swung the handle of a broom over the Warriors ribs, causing him to fall. Sherlock used Alex to help him up and pulled off the sock of the man to reveal the black lotus tattoo, just as he had expected._

_"Come on," he called and slung an arm around Alex to keep her next to him, John doing the same to Sarah._

As soon as they were outside, Sherlock ducked the group into an alleyway and scouted for anyone that was following them. John walked over to Alex.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You fell quite hard."

"Yeah," she brushed off airily, "Fine."

John gave her a smile and turned back over to Sherlock.

"Anything?"

"No, they must have gotten away…" Sherlock paused, "We need to get to Scotland Yard."

The boys raced to see who could hail the taxi first and Alex looked to Sarah.

"You get used to it," she assured and held her arm out to the dazed looking woman.

* * *

><p>Alex leaned against the desk in Scotland Yard in exasperation; Detective Inspector Dimmock was being particularly difficult. Sarah seemed to be coping reasonably well and just hovered around John, thankfully not getting in the way of Sherlock. Whilst everyone was distracted by arguing with Dimmock, Alex took off her muddy shoe and rolled down her sock to reveal the tell-tale signs of an early, angry purple bruise from her encounter with the Warrior. She covered it back up and tuned into the argument.<p>

"I sent a couple of cars. The old hall is totally deserted," Dimmock sniffed.

"Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo that we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong," Sherlock insisted.

"Lukis and Van Coon were part of a-a smuggling operation. Now, one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable," John stated with just as much intensity as his friend.

Sarah just looked at the scene in bewilderment. _What on Earth have I gotten myself into?_, no doubt was running through her head. Alex couldn't help but silently laugh.

"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back," Sherlock continued.

"Get _what _exactly?" Dimmock questioned.

Sherlock pursed his lips angrily and looked down at his shoes.

"We don't know," John replied quietly, not meeting the Detective Inspector's eyes.

"You don't know," Dimmock replied mockingly, "Mr Holmes, I've done everything you asked. Lestrade, he seems to think your advice is worth something."

Sherlock smirked slightly and Alex reminded herself to get some chocolates for her friend.

"I gave the order for a raid," Dimmock spat, "Please tell me I'll have something to show for it – other than a massive bill for overtime."

Alex felt a very strong urge to punch the man in front of her but she knew that it would only make matters even worse if she did. She therefore settled with screaming insults inside her head at him.

Sherlock glared at Dimmock and turned on his heel out of the door, leading Alex out with him.

* * *

><p>"They'll be back in China by tomorrow," John said as he led Sarah into 221B Baker Street.<p>

"No, they won't leave without what they came for," Sherlock countered as he walked over to the photographs, "We need to find their hide-out; the rendezvous. Somewhere in this message it must tell us."

Sarah awkwardly shuffled in the doorway.

"Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it," she suggested uncomfortably.

"No, no, you don't have to go," John began but unfortunately at the same time as Sherlock said,

"Yes, it would be better to study if you left now."

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to sink further into the book covered sofa. John threw Sherlock a vicious glare and turned back to Sarah.

"He's kidding. Please stay if you'd like."

Sarah still looked indecisive so Alex stepped in and led Sarah into the kitchen and shut the door.

"Urgh, Sarah living with these boys is an absolute nightmare sometimes," Alex started sadly, "Just give it two more hours. We can order a takeaway or something."

Sarah contemplated the idea and brightened.

"Okay, but I won't stay too long. It's obvious you are all busy with..." she trailed off. "_Things."_

Alex gave her a supportive smile and walked back into the living room. She suddenly remembered something and turned back to the woman.

"Oh, and thanks by the way, I never got a chance to say it earlier. He would have probably killed me if you didn't do what you did."

And she collapsed into the chair, picking up one of Van Coon's books and reading it.

Sarah just stood still in the kitchen, stunned. There was something in the way that Alex had talked about her own death, so offhandedly and casual. It greatly perturbed Sarah to think what had gone on for the young girl to be so indifferent towards the topic that had most (if not all) fully grown adults shaken.

"Sarah?" John's voice broke through her troubled thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asked in concern.

"Oh, yeah. Just a bit hungry though," she laughed nervously.

John grinned back and began to check in all of the cupboards for anything edible: a jar of rotten pickled onions, an empty fridge and one packet of cheesy puffs. Things were going so well. Determined not to let this spoil his date, John resorted to drastic measures.

"Sarah, could you find a clean glass in that top cupboard, please," John asked.

Sarah smiled and reached up to look for the glasses. John meanwhile casually leaned on the wall into the living room, lifted his fingers and began to tap.

Alex tried to concentrate on the fall of the Roman Empire in the book she was reading but Sherlock's infuriating noise was doing her head in. She tried to turn a deaf ear to it but she couldn't drown it out. She lifted her head from her book to snap at Sherlock when she saw that he was completely still but the tapping still continued. She frowned when she heard that it was coming from the wall. With an amused grin, she realised that it was John tapping out Morse Code. Oh, what a soldier.

Dot, dot, dash, dot… F

Dash, dash, dash… O

Dash, dash, dash… O

Dash, dot, dot… D

Alex furrowed her brow. Food? What about it?

"Oh."

It wasn't food. It was the lack of.

"Fine, I'll bail you out of trouble," she grumbled.

She made it her good deed of the day and went down to Mrs Hudson's flat.

"Mrs Hudson?" Alex knocked on the door.

There was a shuffling of keys and the door opened to reveal the elderly woman.

"Oh hello Alex, dear!" she smiled and stepped back to let her honorary granddaughter inside her flat.

"Hey, sorry, this isn't really a social visit. There is a little bit of a problem," Alex started.

"Oh, dear. What has happened?" Mrs Hudson asked worriedly.

"Well John has a date around and-"

Mrs Hudson clapped a hand to her mouth, "But what about Sherlock?!"

"What do you mean?" Alex frowned.

"I didn't picture John as the unfaithful type," she murmured sadly.

"Mrs H, Sherlock and John aren't actually together."

"Oh well at least he broke it off first. He will never find another man like Sherlock though," Mrs Hudson said sullenly.

"I am pretty sure that Sarah is a woman," Alex tried not to laugh.

"A woman?!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

"Look, we have no food and he really likes this Sarah woman so would you be able to help us?" Alex pleaded.

"Oh! Of course dearie, come and help me take up this tray up," Mrs Hudson immediately pulled out a jar of punch and some bowls of this-and-that.

Alex swore that the old woman was psychic.

* * *

><p>"Ooh-ooh," Mrs Hudson called quietly as she sneaked into the kitchen followed by a tray carrying Alex. John had cleverly (or not so cleverly) diverted Sarah's attention from the kitchen by asking her to help Sherlock. Alex winced and placed the tray down and ran into the living room as quickly as she could. She reckoned that John wouldn't be too happy if Sherlock ended up 'accidently' killing Sarah.<p>

She decided just to hang back around behind the crates scattered around the floor and silently watch the situation in case things got a little out of hand.

Sarah picked up the photograph of the ciphered wall and Alex resisted the urge to run out just then as she saw the dark look pass over her Uncle's face.

"What are these squiggles?" she asked innocently.

"They're numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect," Sherlock replied stiffly, still not looking up at her.

"Oh, right! Yeah, well, of course I should have known that," she muttered sarcastically, "So these numbers – it's a cipher."

"Yes," Sherlock clenched his fists and forced down his urge to throttle the woman.

"And each pair of numbers is a word."

Alex rose from her hiding spot and Sherlock lifted his head.

"How did you know that?" they both asked at the same time.

Sarah jumped having not seen Alex come in the room but replied,

"Well, two words have already been translated, here," she pointed to two of the ciphers and Alex leaned over Sherlock's shoulder to see as he snatched the paper back.

"John," he called.

"Mmm?" came the reply from the kitchen.

"John, look at this," Alex said.

John shuffled out of the kitchen and came over to Sherlock and Alex.

"Soo Lin at the museum – she started to translate the code for us. We didn't see it! 'Nine Mill'," he read out.

"Does that mean 'millions'?" John asked, squinting down at the writing over the top of the photograph.

"Nine million quid. For what?" Alex asked thoughtfully.

Sherlock nodded at Alex and dashed off to throw on his coat and scarf.

"We need to know the end of this sentence," Sherlock declared.

"Where are you going now?" John asked incredulously.

"To the museum; to the restoration room," Sherlock grimaced with a frustrated look on his face at his own carelessness, "Oh, we must have been staring right at it!"

"At what?"

"The book, John. The book – the key to cracking the cipher!" he took out the photo, "Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk."

Sherlock swung around the door and scurried down the stairs. Alex turned to follow him when she caught her already bruised foot on the corner of one of the crates. She bit her lip as her eyes filled with water from the impact. Thankfully, John and Sarah were too occupied with the takeaway menu to notice. Alex plopped down onto the sofa and gently probed at her foot. She sucked in a sharp breath and carefully slipped it back into her sock. No doubt Sherlock was already at the museum. She pouted. She wished that she had just ran out after him, now she was stuck with the lovebirds alone, like an annoying third wheel.

"Hey Alex, what do you want from the Chinese?" John asked from the kitchen doorway.

Alex craned her neck around to face him from her position on the sofa.

"Um… duck please," she asked.

John smiled and turned back to the telephone in his hand.

"Yes and one duck, please…" he spoke to the person taking their order.

Alex turned back to face the violin in its stand and wondered what Sherlock was up to.

* * *

><p>As soon as Sherlock left the flat, he rushed to hail a cab (thankfully not one a single trip away from the scrapheap). However, as he ran over to the curb, he accidently knocked an A-Z London Guidebook out of a German tourist's hand.<p>

"Hey, du! Siehst du nicht wo du hingehst?" the German man shouted indignantly. [Hey, you! Why don't you look where you're going?]

Sherlock turned back almost reluctantly, stooped down to sweep up the fallen guide and handed it back to the man.

"Entschuldigen Sie, bitte," Sherlock apologised. [Forgive me, please.]

"Ja, danke," the man muttered sarcastically [Yeah, thanks], "Und dann sagen die, dass die Engländer höflich sind!" [And they say the English are polite!]

Sherlock pointedly ignored the rude man in his haste and turned back to the roadside. He grunted in a mix between anger and frustration when the taxi he had just hailed drove away in his moment of his distraction. He let his gaze drift to just further up the street where a Chinese couple were consulting an A-Z London Guidebook like the German couple. Sherlock's mind flashed the image of Van Coon's flat in his brain. The London A-Z stood out in a pile of books in his living room. The same with Lukis's flat. His own voice drifted through his Mind Palace and echoed off its glistening walls.

'_A book that everybody would own.'_

Sherlock's eyes widened in realisation as he took off back down the street towards the annoyed German man with the very book in his hands.

"Please, wait! Bitte!" he shouted as he almost barrelled into them.

"Was wollt er? Was will er?" the German Man snarked. [what does he want?]

Sherlock snatched the book out of the man's fingers and held up an impatient hand to stem the flow of objections from the couple.

"Hey, du! Was macht du?" the man shouted. [Hey, you! What are you doing?]

"Minute!" Sherlock barked as he fumbled to open the long searched for. [Wait a minute!]

"Gib mir doch mein Buch zurück!" the man persisted angrily, [Give me my book back!]

Seeing that Sherlock was blatantly ignoring him, the man just wrapped his hand around his wife's waist and turned them both away, muttering about idiotic English people.

"Page fifteen, entry one. Page fifteen, entry one," he flipped to it, "Dead man. You were threatening to kill them. It's the first cipher."

"Thirty-seven, nine; thirty-seven, nine," he continued, "Nine million ... for… page Sixty, thirty-five, Jade… Nine Mill for Jade Pin Dragon Den Black Tramway."

Sherlock raised his head. He had solved it.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Alex was lazed over the sofa while John and Sarah scavenged some privacy in the kitchen. Urgh, she was so bored. The only entertainment she had was making silent tunes with her intakes of breath. A sudden sharp knock on the door interrupted her breathing symphony.<p>

"Ooh, blimey, that was quick," John remarked as he plodded out of the kitchen, "I'll just pop down."

Alex stood up and walked over to the top of the stairs to help John if he needed it to carry up the bags of food. John walked down to the bottom and opened the door. A hooded Chinese delivery man awaited him.

"Sorry to keep you," John dug around in his pocket for his money, "How much do you want?"

"Do you have it?" the man asked urgently.

Alex frowned and stepped back around the banister out of sight.

"What?" John asked blankly.

"Do you have the treasure?"

Alex swallowed hard as she realised what was happening. It was too late to save John, but there was Sarah. She tiptoed as lightly as she could back into the flat and into the kitchen.

"Sarah, be quiet. You need to get out. Run," Alex hissed, her eyes wide with panic.

"What?" Sarah asked at normal volume.

"Sh!" Alex clapped a hand to her mouth, "Shut up and run, this isn't a joke!"

Sarah seemed to see the urgent and panicked spark in Alex's eye.

"Where?" she whispered. "But John…"

Alex flinched as she heard the connecting of the butt of a gun against John's head.

"Too late…" Alex trailed off.

In a sudden burst of inspiration, Alex grabbed Sarah roughly by the upper arm and shoved her into the airing cupboard just behind the kitchen door. She shut it and pushed the sofa against it. The heavy footsteps of the man thundering up the stairs bellowed around the whole flat.

"If you want to survive, stay silent and do not open this door for anything," Alex breathed and braced herself. She was not going down without a bloody big fight.

The door thudded has someone threw their whole weight against it. The hinges shuddered and a splinter of wood split from the frame. Alex had to shield her eyes as the door came flying completely off its hinges and smashed jaggedly on to the arm chair.

She didn't have time to run anymore. Her plan had been to hide in the cupboard under the sink, but he was there. He had seen her. All she could do was stare, limbs locked in paralysis rivalling a deer in the headlights.

Time seemed to freeze.

Her toes curled forward in anticipation.

Her blood pounded in her ears.

Her teeth gritted together.

The man raised his pistol at her.

She narrowed her eyes.

His face tugged into something that could only be described as a smug smirk -

as he pulled the trigger.

* * *

><p><strong>rycbar15- Hello once again! I have thought about a oneshot prequel and I think that I may get around to writing one soon :) My laptop overheats so much that it is not even funny... urgh... anyway, Alex is fourteen nearing fifteen. Hope you liked this chapter x<strong>

**Revella- Hey again! Yeah, poor John everything always seems to have a knock on effect on him. I tried hard to make the interaction believable and it went through several rewrites so I am so relieved to know that you think that it is okay *contented sigh*. Hope you liked this chapter x**

**E.I Cochrane- Hi! Glad you liked the last chapter :D Hopefully this was okay for you as well x**

**GottaLoveTen- Hey! Glad you like everything haha. Your encouragement means a lot :D x**

**Scottish Bluebell- Hello! Thank you for your amazing review! I am so glad that you like what I write, it really makes all of the work worthwhile. As I write this, it is so sad as I make their relationship grow closer and closer because I know that the more fluff, the further she will fall (no pun intended haha) but I can't help writing more of it! Hopefully this chapter is okay for you :) x**

**Thank you again to each of you, made my week :D**

**Please Review!**

**Abby**

**X**


	20. The Blind Banker - Part 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex J**

**Author's Note: Bonus chapter in one night, here! Warning for violence in this one.**

_Previously-_

_The door thudded has someone threw their whole weight against it. The hinges shuddered and a splinter of wood split from the frame. Alex had to shield her eyes as the door came flying completely off its hinges and smashed jaggedly on to the arm chair._

_She stared defiantly into the face of the Chinese man as he seemed to size her up._

_Time seemed to freeze._

_Her toes curled forward in anticipation._

_Her blood pounded in her ears._

_Her teeth gritted together._

_The man raised his pistol at her._

_She narrowed her eyes._

_His face tugged into something that could only be described as a smug smirk as he pulled the trigger._

Alex dived to the floor immediately and rolled to take cover behind the armchair as the bullet embedded itself just below the mirror. Alex hurried into the kitchen, hearing the man hop over the back of chair to pursue her.

_Think!_

Scanning the room for anything she could use, Alex broke off one of the wooden legs and threw it with all of her force. It collided with the side of man's face. He put a hand to his cheek and Alex took this opportunity to force the table against the man and trapped him against the wall, forcing him to drop his gun. He grunted at the pressure but swung his legs sideways over the table top and crawled at alarming speed toward her. He grasped her face tightly and pushed her backwards, slamming her spine into the fridge.

Alex cried out in pain and brought her knee up to the man's chin. He groaned as his jaw made a sickening crack. It hung disgustingly to the side.

"Should not have done that," he mumbled sinisterly, blood dripping from his mouth.

Alex shuddered as she scooted further away. He stood up and stalked towards his gun. He curled his fingers around its cool metal and smiled sadistically.

"I could shoot you," he suggested, still slowly walking toward her. "Or I could beat you. I could break your neck."

Alex felt a bitter taste of panic rise in her throat as the Chinese man reached for the knife on the table top.

"But I think I may cut you."

Her bottom lip trembled. She was trapped in the corner with the man advancing on her like a tiger on meat. He raised the blade and brought it down on her shoulder.

Alex screamed as pain flared through her jaggedly cut skin. Blood oozed thickly from her wound, already staining her clothes. She gritted her teeth and tried to block out the agony, she had to be able to think straight. Just as the man brought the knife to her again, his mobile began to ring. It didn't wait to be answered however; just one word was screamed out in a droning mechanical voice.

"ALIVE!"

The man paled dramatically and threw down the knife like it had burned him. He turned back to Alex and gulped audibly. He seized her arms and pinned them behind her back. Her face contorted in excruciating agony as he stretched her wound. Spots invaded her vision, making her dizzy and unbearably sick. She barely felt the small pin prick in her neck that had caused the nausea but flailed her legs out nonetheless in a futile attempt to cling on to consciousness.

Alex vaguely remembered hearing Sarah's quivering breaths as her face was pressed against the airing cupboard door before dragging her nails down the wall as her muscles weakened and her head lolled back into her captors arms as she was effortlessly dragged away like a rag doll, blood staining the carpets from her battered form.

She closed her eyes, trying to give into the tiredness that was begging to be entertained. Any way to stop the pain.

**Thank yous will be in the next chapter.**

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Have a great day,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	21. The Blind Banker - Part 16

_Previously:_

_The man paled dramatically and threw down the knife like it had burned him. He turned back to Alex and gulped audibly. He seized her arms and pinned them behind her back. Her face contorted in excruciating agony as he stretched her wound. Spots invaded her vision, making her dizzy and unbearably sick. She barely felt the small pin prick in her neck that had caused the nausea but flailed her legs out nonetheless in a futile attempt to cling on to consciousness._

_Alex vaguely remembered hearing Sarah's shuddering breaths as her face was pressed against the airing cupboard door before dragging her nails down the wall as her muscles weakened and her head lolled back into her captors arms as she was effortlessly dragged away like a rag doll, blood staining the carpets from her battered form._

_She longed to sleep and forget about the pain._

Sherlock grinned in triumph. He had translated it. He had solved it. He had won the game.

Bounding around the corner to head back to the flat, Sherlock sensed something was wrong. The door was open slightly ajar, not a mistake that John would make. He walked slowly over to the steps and his breath caught in his throat as he saw a tiny crimson splatter of blood on the path. He creaked open the door and advanced up the stairs, his ears straining for any sign of life.

_Please not Alex,_

_Please not Alex,_

_Please not Alex,_

Sherlock stood in the broken open doorway and surveyed the scene. The sofa was pushed right back against the airing cupboard door, legs had been broken off the dining room chair. Shrapnel from the shattered door lay all over the floor. Sherlock looked frantically in the kitchen and immediately wished he hadn't. A pool of deep scarlet blood stained the white tiles and the wall. Too much blood.

It was then that Sherlock heard the sobbing. His ears pricked up and he followed the sound eagerly. He ripped the sofa away from the cupboard door and swung it open.

"Alex?" he called, panic evident in his voice.

A woman came bursting out and wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck. But it wasn't Alex.

"Sarah!" Sherlock exclaimed in surprise and disappointment.

She still clung to him.

"I am sorry, I am so sorry Sherlock," she muttered through her tears.

Sherlock pulled her away from him and steadied her.

"What happened?" he asked intensely.

"T-the delivery man. John went to get the f-food and Alex came running up and shoved me in here. S-said that the man was going to kill us. She shoved this across," she motioned to the sofa, "and d-didn't have time to... There was a… oh God… there was a gunshot and- and she ran into the kitchen. She must have hit him with something 'cause I heard him shout. Then… oh, I am so sorry," she sobbed.

"What. Happened?" Sherlock shouted furiously.

"I just heard a scream and everything went silent…" Sarah put her face in her hands and just wept.

Sherlock stared at one piece on the mantel. Alex. They had her. They hurt her. His top lip curled upwards to bear his teeth.

"Sarah, go home. Don't come back here unless John rings you," Sherlock ordered sternly as he took out the paper with the translated ciphers on it out of his pocket.

Sarah nodded tearfully and threw on her coat.

"I am so sorry Sherlock," she said one final time and walked out of the door.

"Not as sorry as they're going to be…" Sherlock murmured under his breath before taking off himself. He knew where they would be, the cipher took care of that. Now there was only the Black Lotus themselves to take care of.

* * *

><p>John groaned as he regained consciousness, wincing at the graze on the side of his head. He realised that he was tied to a chair in a dark tunnel and immediately began to struggle. He had to get out. He knew that he had been taken by the Black Lotus, that much was evident. He remembered the delivery man saying 'have you got it?' and mentioning something about treasure. John suddenly remembered that if they had been at Baker Street, there were others in the flat other than John that could have been taken. Alex and Sarah.<p>

John turned his head and gasped when he saw Alex tied up next to him, her face bruised and bloody.

"Alex?" he whispered, fearing the worst.

"Alex," he repeated a little louder.

The girl began to stir and moaned as her eye lashes fluttered open.

"Jo-" she whimpered. It hurt too much to speak.

"Alex, are you okay?" he asked urgently.

She just gritted her teeth and John saw the beads of sweat running down her agonised face.

"Where are you hurt?" John tried to shuffle closer to help her or at least see her injury.

Alex opened her mouth to answer him when she snapped it shut and seemed to convulse slightly. The pain in her shoulder was unbearable. She knew that he had cut through muscle and possibly bone.

"I know you're in pain, but I need to you to speak to me so I can help you, _where are you hurt_?" John asked gently.

"She will not answer Mr Holmes," a voice said from the shadows.

Alex's eyes snapped up in fear as John sat up straighter.

"A book is like a magic garden carried in your pocket," the voice said as they stepped forward.

Alex saw that she was a Chinese woman clad in leather and donned tinted sunglasses.

"Chinese proverb, Mr Holmes," the woman continued.

"I ... I'm not Sherlock Holmes," John started, "What have you done to her?" he nodded towards Alex.

"Do not worry about your precious niece Mr Holmes, she will soon be put out of her misery," the woman smiled sickly.

"I am not Mr Holmes," John repeated, greatly uneasy about what had just been said about Alex.

"Forgive me if I do not take your word for it."

The woman reached inside his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Debit card, name of S Holmes," she read out.

"Yes; that's not actually mine. He lent that to me," John corrected.

"A cheque for five thousand pounds made out in the name of Mr Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, he gave me that to look after."

"Tickets from the theatre, collected by you, name of Holmes."

"Yes, okay… I realise what this looks like, but I'm not him."

"We heard it from your own mouth. 'I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone'," she quoted from earlier in the case.

"Did I really say that?" John muttered, "I suppose there's no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression."

The woman pulled out a pistol and aimed it directly at John's head. John's eyes widened as he struggled to back away from it.

"Stop," Alex rasped, her face contorted with fear for her friend and agony.

"I am Shan," the woman revealed.

"You're- _you are _Shan."

"Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr Holmes. What does it tell you when an assassin cannot shoot straight?" she asked as she leant in further.

She cocked the gun and pressed it to his head.

"Please!" Alex choked out. "If you want to do something to someone, do it to me. H-he'll be more likely t-to listen."

John looked to her in shock and turned back to Shan.

"She doesn't mean it. She is delirious, ignore her," he pleaded but Shan already looked to Alex in thought.

"Strange girl you are Miss Holmes," she remarked as she thankfully retracted the gun and approached her.

"Leave her alone," John ordered.

Shan ignored him and leant down to Alex's face.

"It is a shame," she stroked a bruise on Alex's cheek, "She didn't have to be hurt like this… but she was bad. She broke one of my men's jaws. So she had to be punished," Shan span the chair around so Alex's injured shoulder was facing John.

John took a sharp intake of breath at the sight. The wound was deep and way too much blood was being lost.

"Please, she's just a child, leave her alone," John tried, staring into Alex's pain-filled eyes.

"Not before you tell me what you have. If we wanted to kill you Mr Holmes, we would have done it by now. We just wanted to make you inquisitive, that is why I went to your school disguised as Laura," Shan told Alex, "we knew your dear uncle over there would figure it out. And figure it out, he has, haven't you Mr Holmes. Where is it?"

"Where is what?" John asked in confusion.

"The treasure," Shan pressed down lightly on Alex's shoulder, causing the young girl to cry out.

"Please leave her alone, neither of us knows what you're talking about," John rushed out.

Shan turned away toward some of her men.

"I would prefer to make certain."

One of the men approached a blanket covered object and removed the cover. Alex's stomach contracted painfully as she realised what was happening.

"Everything in the West has its price; and the price for _her_ life," Shan ran her finger across a shallow scrape on Alex's chin, "_Information."_

Alex looked at John desperately as two men picked up her chair. The wooden back of the object and the men's hands rubbed roughly against her bare flesh and badly bruised back, causing her to scream in pain. She was dropped down onto the floor in front of the contraption from the circus earlier. Alex bit down on her lip to stem her shrieks, and they subsided to excruciated sobs.

One of the men loaded the machine with a crossbow aimed directly at Alex's heart. Alex just stared at its razor sharp tip and took a shuddering breath.

"Alex, I'm so sorry," John murmured, his heart clenching at her screams.

She gave him a weak smile to signify that it wasn't his fault, but the tears mingling with the blood on her face tore his attention away from her mouth.

"Where's the hairpin?" Shan demanded.

"What?!"

"The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West; and then one of our people was greedy. He took it, brought it back to London and you, Mr Holmes, have been searching with your pretty little niece here."

"Please. Please, listen to me. I'm not ... I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me. I haven't found whatever it is you're looking for. But when the real Sherlock Holmes gets here, that girl's real uncle, he is going to be mad as hell with you," John threatened darkly. She didn't know what was going to hit her.

"I need a volunteer from the audience!" Shan declared loudly, unfazed by John's threat.

She turned to a crying Alex and gave an exuberant smile.

"Ah, thank you, lady. Yes, you'll do very nicely."

"Please!" John exclaimed loudly.

Alex just watched in horror as the same blood stained knife that had slashed her shoulder plunged into the sandbag, causing the sand to leak out, each grain ticking away at the time Alex had left alive.

Sherlock sat in the back of a cab, nervously chewing his thumb. Alex was hurt, badly. The blood told him that. His insides felt like they were punctured with glass as he imagined all of the different scenarios that could have befallen his sister's daughter. Someone was going to bear the consequences if that girl was hurt.

Alex looked hopelessly at the jagged spear pointed at her as Shan began to taunt both John and her again.

"Ladies and gentlemen. From the distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' dear little niece in a death-defying act."

"Stop!" John yelled.

"You've seen the act before. How dull for you. You know how it ends," Shan told Alex with mock sadness as she placed an origami lotus on her lap, "Look, it is special this one. It only makes sense that you have made it, so you should die with it."

Alex looked down at the flower and saw sure enough that in small intricate gel pen was the golden letters _Alessandra Holmes_. How fitting.

"John," Alex swallowed against the pain that flared up from talking, "It isn't your fault. Or Sherlock or Mycroft's. Tell them that."

"Oh, how lovely," Shan jeered, "Wasn't that lovely Mr Holmes?"

"_I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"_ John stressed frantically.

The weight was getting closer and closer.

"I don't believe you!" Shan snapped.

"You should, you know," a deep voice said.

Alex perked up, eyes wide.

"Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him. How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?" Sherlock suggested.

"Late?" John offered, not taking his eyes off Alex who somehow was growing paler by the second.

"That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand metres per second."

"Well?" Shan asked as she raised her pistol to the shadows.

"Well," there was a thud as Sherlock knocked one of Shan's henchman out with a metal pipe, still concealed in the shadows, "the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four metres. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit _you_."

Sherlock promptly dashed out of the darkness and sent a flaming bin rolling over and slipping back into the shadows. Shan lost her aim as John craned to find his friend in the dark.

Sherlock rushed over to behind Alex and fiddled with her bonds.

"Are you okay? Where are you hurt?" he asked frantically.

Alex gritted her teeth together to stop from screaming again and revealing Sherlock's position as he unknowingly pressed on her shoulder.

"Alex?" Sherlock prompted as he came to crouch in front of her.

He still couldn't see the blood on her face or staining her shoulder in the darkness.

"Sherlock watch out!" John exclaimed as one of the henchmen threw a satin red scarf around Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock grappled with the scarf as it slowly began to choke him. He lifted his hands to try and claw at it. Deciding that the tactic wasn't working and he was slowly running out of air, Sherlock brought his leg crashing back into his holder's stomach. He doubled over in pain and Sherlock took this opportunity to dive back to Alex and undo her bonds. The weight was so close to the bowl that Alex just closed her eyes, knowing as Sherlock was pulled back for a second time that there was no escape.

She braced herself as silent tears streaked down her face.

John, realising that Sherlock wasn't going to break free in time and the weight was almost touching the bowl, attempted to stand up, only to fall sideways and crash to the floor in a heap.

Alex began to feel lightheaded from the blood loss. At least if she was unconscious, she wouldn't have to feel the spear impale her skin or feel the life leave her body.

Sherlock wrestled with the man behind him and watched in horror as the weight brushed against the bowl.

In one last, final attempt, John swung out his legs and knocked the machine sideways at the last second. The spear shot out but instead of hitting Alex, it buried itself in the chest of Sherlock's attacker. He fell to the floor with wide, dead eyes and sprawled out on his back with the spear protruding from his chest.

Sherlock shook the scarf off as John untangled his bonds. Shan and the last remaining henchman took flight down the tunnel, but neither Sherlock nor John could care less. They both ran to a barely conscious Alex.

"Careful," John warned as Sherlock began to undo the rope around Alex's hands.

Sherlock sent John a questioning glance and John just pointed to the girl's shoulder. Sherlock followed John's finger and his eyes rested on the gaping wound.

"Oh my God," he breathed.

He very carefully untied the ropes and helped John to lower Alex to the floor.

"I need your scarf," John ordered and Sherlock obliged without hesitation.

John pressed the scarf over the laceration.

"Keep her awake," John told Sherlock.

Sherlock took Alex's limp hand in his own.

"Hey, just stay awake… okay? Don't go to sleep."

Alex managed a weak grin, "That the best you got? Sleep sounds pretty good right now."

"You can sleep as much as you want later."

"And you… you won't throw water on me?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Promise. As long as you stay awake now."

"Yeah…" Alex said softly, her eyes slowly beginning to close again.

It was like she was there, but not really in her body. Like she was watching the scene being played out in front of her on a battered old video set filled with static. She could feel but she couldn't really_feel._

"No, no Alex. Keep your eyes open for me, okay?"

"Sherlock, she needs to go to hospital, now," John informed him quietly.

* * *

><p>The next few hours passed in a blur for Alex. She vaguely remembered being in the ambulance and wished she could forget the stitching but everything else just seemed to mould into a bit of a blank.<p>

Sherlock sat at his sleeping niece's bedside, an unopened book on his knee. He didn't hold her hand like parents on the ward next door did. He didn't think she'd appreciate or understand the sudden burst of uncharacteristic sentiment. He settled for staring.

John knocked quietly on the door and slipped in holding two cups of coffee.

"Here," he said, handing his friend the other cup.

"Thank you."

John settled himself on Alex's other side and took a sip of his drink.

"When did Mycroft leave?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes ago. He thinks he may have found the man whom escaped with Shan," Sherlock replied.

"Well that's good news then," John said optimistically.

"He's the one who did this," Sherlock gestured to the array of bruises and scrapes and finally the heavily bandaged shoulder.

John's face took on a dark look.

"Even better. I don't suppose you and Mycroft may need some assistance in your interrogation?"

Sherlock smirked slightly, "Wouldn't have it any other way."

John picked up the medical chart that hung off the end of the bed and read it. He looked faintly sick. How someone could do that to anyone – never mind a completely innocent child – was beyond him. When Sherlock reached for the chart, John shook his head.

"You won't like it," John warned.

Sherlock just gave him a look. John begrudgingly handed it over.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered.

Sherlock's eyes scanned over the words and set his jaw, giving the chart back without looking. He turned back to Alex and fitted the written words with the physical injuries. The bruised face, the lacerated shoulder, the sprained back- he couldn't go on.

He had to take a breath to calm himself. At least she was alive.

On that thought, his phone began to buzz.

"Hello?" he answered, actually accepting the call for once.

"_Sherlock, we've found him_," his brother's voice informed him.

"Are you sure that it's definitely him?"

"_Positive. How is she?"_

"Still asleep."

_"When she wakes up, call me and let me speak to her."_

"Of course. Oh, and John will be accompanying us to the prison," Sherlock added.

_"Excellent. The more the merrier. Goodbye, Sherlock."_

"Goodbye, Mycroft," Sherlock flipped his phone shut, "Moron."

"Wow, that conversation was actually civil, excluding your little comment there," John remarked.

"Yes well, only for Alex's sake," Sherlock said.

A comfortable silence fell over the hospital room.

"She does seem to attract trouble, doesn't she?"

"Family trait," Sherlock said with a hint of a smile. "And if experience is anything to go by, she'll be fine."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading,<strong>

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	22. Interrogation

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Warning for violence in this chapter!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously-_

_"Goodbye Mycroft," Sherlock flipped his phone shut, "Moron."_

_"Wow, that conversation was actually civil, excluding your little comment there," John remarked._

_"Yes well, only for Alex's sake," Sherlock said._

_A comfortable silence fell over the hospital room._

_"I like your thought by the way," John complemented._

_"Hm?"_

_"About locking her up in Baker Street. I third that."_

_Sherlock smirked and turned back to Alex's sleeping form._

Sherlock was reading one of his books that John had brought over for him when he noticed Alex's hand twitch. He immediately put down the book on the bedside table and placed his hand on Alex's uninjured shoulder as she stirred. John had fallen asleep over in the armchair next to him.

"Come on, Alex. Wake up," Sherlock said.

Blearily, she opened her eyes. Seeing him, she grinned brightly.

"Hey," he smiled a rare genuine smile.

"Hey to you too," Alex said, and winced as she tried to sit up.

"Wait, don't move yet. I'll wake John," Sherlock told her.

"No," her voice was raw and scratchy, "don't wake him up."

"Don't worry, I'm up," John said, pulling himself around.

John shuffled closer to her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, looking closely at her face.

"Fine," her voice cracked.

Both men gave her a disbelieving look.

"Better," she corrected under their gaze.

She turned her attention to Sherlock.

"What happened?" she asked. "Have I been hit by a bus or something?"

Sherlock paused.

"Don't you remember?"

Alex chewed her lip as she tried to recall the events that had her in the hospital in the first place. It was like waking up and groggily trying to salvage details of the dream you had dreamt the previous night.

"I remember… well… oh, Sarah! Is Sarah okay? Did they find her?" Alex frantically asked, beginning to sit up painfully.

"You aren't going to be able to sit up on your own for a few minutes until you properly wake up, so don't try," John told her. "And Sarah is fine thanks to you, they didn't find her in the cupboard. You probably saved her life."

Alex blew out a relieved breath, "Good. I like her."

"Yeah me too," John said.

Alex sighed, "I feel like I've slept for ages! How long was I out?"

"A few hours," Sherlock replied, and John frowned at him.

Alex didn't notice, instead beginning to feel her strength back, and tried to sit up again.

"I'm fine," she said as they both offered to help, and pushed her pillow up further behind herself. She hissed in pain for a brief moment, then it passed. The wonders of pain relief. "It doesn't hurt as much as it should do. I must be on some pretty strong painkillers."

"Not overly strong," John sent a wary glance to Sherlock. "You've just had time to heal, that's all."

"You said it's only been a few hours."

"So what else do you remember about what happened in the flat?" Sherlock said, changing the subject.

Alex cast her mind back as the details became clearer. Her face fell and she let her head fall back against her pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

"I remember everything. Do you know who did it?"

"Yes."

"Can I do something bad to them?"

"We've got that covered."

She laughed softly, "No doubt you have. When can I go home?"

"Yeah… um you might be in here for about a week," John admitted.

Alex rolled her eyes at him, "And who suggested that?"

"Oh, just some army doctor."

"Oh?"

"Hmm. He knew what he was doing."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah, more than anyone else in this place. Obviously."

Alex shook her head at him in amusement, "Obviously."

"Oh Alex," Sherlock suddenly remembered as he took out his mobile phone, "Mycroft wanted you to call him when you woke up."

Alex took the phone from Sherlock's outstretched hand and dialled her Uncles number.

"_Hello?" _Mycroft answered.

"Hey, Mycroft," Alex's voice began to get a little heavy with fatigue.

"_Alex! Are you okay?"_

"Whoa Uncle Mycroft calm down," Alex giggled softly, "I'm feeling better than before, my shoulder is aching just a little bit. Sherlock and John are here, too."

_"So an improvement from yesterday?"_

"Well… yeah, considering I was strapped to a chair in front of a death machine yesterday. I'd say that's a significant improvement."

_"What?"_ Alex heard the worry in his voice.

She frowned when she saw the same concern reflected in Sherlock and John's faces.

"Well… I have just woken up."

Sherlock reached out and prised the phone out of Alex's hand.

"Mycroft, I'll text you in a minute," he didn't wait for a reply; he just ended the call and turned to Alex.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked anxiously.

John put a hand on her back and helped her to lie back down. She wasn't really in any condition to resist.

"I think you should go to sleep now," he said.

"No! I want to know what the big problem is," she argued.

"Alex," Sherlock warned.

Alex rolled her eyes and her gaze fell on the calendar in the corner of the room. It had been the 21st of September when she was taken, it was now the 29th. Alex froze.

"Come on," John said.

"No. I want to know why I can't remember the last eight days. I can't have slept, so tell me," Alex said in a forced calm.

Sherlock and John exchanged glances.

"Alex," Sherlock said, "Just relax. Close your eyes and go to sleep. John and I will figure this out okay," he soothed.

Alex stared back into Sherlock's eyes and saw only truth. She nodded and sighed as she closed her eyes, giving into the fatigue that hung heavily in her body.

"You'll be fine," Sherlock whispered.

"Why does this keep happening?" he groaned.

"I don't know John!" Sherlock snapped.

John froze. He didn't think that he had ever heard those words uttered from his friend's mouth.

"Yes, yes. Get over it!"

John shook his head to clear it of the thoughts spinning around his head and joined Sherlock at the foot of the bed.

"She doesn't have any head injuries that could have caused her amnesia," he remarked.

"Every time she wakes up, she can't remember the previous time," Sherlock muttered.

He came over and picked up his phone again. Dialling his brother's number, Sherlock put it to his ear.

"Mycroft?"

"_It has happened again hasn't it?" _his brother's weary voice guessed.

"Yes. We need to interrogate this man you have, I have a feeling he may be behind it, or at least know who is," Sherlock told his brother.

_"I know what you mean, I have the same thought. I have a car waiting outside to take you and John to where I am. Oh, and the man's name is Dao."_

The line went dead.

"Mycroft has a car outside to go to Dao," Sherlock informed John as he pulled on his coat.

"Dao?"

"The henchman, Dao is apparently his name."

John nodded and pulled his own jacket. The two men walked to the door but Sherlock hesitated suddenly and looked back at Alex. She looked so vulnerable just laid there with her dark curls splayed out behind her pale face. John put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"She'll be okay Sherlock. She is perfectly safe here and she will just be sleeping. She won't even know that we have been gone," John reassured.

Sherlock nodded. Of course he was being stupid. She was in the best place she could be and she was completely fine just sleeping.

He closed the door quietly and turned on his heel down the long, too white corridors.

* * *

><p>The car journey was silent and it didn't take long at all to arrive at what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse.<p>

"Oh, how original," Sherlock commented.

John snorted as he climbed out of the car.

"Time to give him hell?"

Sherlock smirked, "Exactly."

They were escorted through the warehouse by one of what was many armed men that were patrolling the scene. This Black Lotus group had been taken very seriously, even more seriously now that Mycroft Holmes was spurring things on a little.

"Mr Holmes is waiting for you both inside sir," he addressed Sherlock and motioned to a door to the left of them.

Sherlock nodded his gratitude and advanced toward his brother, John close behind him. Opening the door, they were greeted with the sight of Mycroft stood in front of a cell surrounded by soundproof glass.

"Hello," Mycroft greeted without turning around.

"He looks rather calm," Sherlock commented as he stood closer to the glass to see Dao sat leaning comfortably against the wall in the corner.

"I expect Mr Dao won't be as composed in a moment, Duskin is coming in now," Mycroft replied.

Right on cue, the door behind them opened, and a foreign-looking man entered. He was tall and pale, with hard eyes and a deeply-set frown on his face. His face and neck were marred with thin white scars. He edged smoothly past John and came to stand in front of Mycroft.

"Now, Mr Holmes?" he asked in a heavily-accented voice. Northern Russian, Sherlock easily picked out.

"Yes."

Duskin bowed his head respectably and made for the door into the cell. However, when he went to pull the handle, it jammed.

"You need to use the biometric scanner," Mycroft said.

He turned to him calmly, "Unfortunately, that is not possible."

"Why not? You should have had your thumb print scanned into our database."

Duskin held out his thumb, which was heavily scarred with what seemed to be fresh wounds.

"A run in with Noboru when he escaped," he cast a look to Sherlock and John and visibly stopped himself, clearing his throat. "It renders me unable to use such technology."

Mycroft pursed his lips is displeasure, but nodded and put his thumb against the little black pad, overriding the locks. Duskin gave him a nod of thanks and entered. The moment he was inside, the door slid shut again, leaving Mycroft, Sherlock, and John in the observation area.

They took a seat in the three chairs that faced the glass. In front of them, was a table with a microphone to communicate with Duskin through his earpiece.

"Get up," Duskin ordered simply.

Dao glanced up, eyebrows knitting together as he took in Duskin's appearance.

"You not one of them?"

Duskin gave him a smile, "No, I am not of British government. I am much, much worse."

Dao swallowed, then composed himself, the insolent mask he had donned slipping on like a well-worn sock, "I have nothing anyway."

"My employer seems to think differently."

"Mr Holmes. Which one, the elder or the younger?" Dao asked, licking the dried blood on his lip.

"Both," Duskin walked towards him and too, leant against the wall. "It seems as if you've managed to piss off a lot of important people."

From behind the glass, John frowned. He sounded almost impressed. He sent a sideways look to Sherlock, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Where have you got this man from?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, eyes still on the scene in front of them.

"He's helped out on occasion. Don't worry, he's clean. His methods lie somewhat outside the confines of the law, but I believe the situation calls for it, does it not?"

Back inside, Dao grinned, "I cannot deny that it wasn't fun. It has been a long time since I had someone her age put up a fight like that. Most lie down and take it," he turned to the glass. "How's the shoulder?"

Duskin's smile remained in place, though it held something other than admiration now, as he bent down to Dao's level, saying quietly, "I would keep your mouth shut from now, Dao."

"And why should I?"

As he spoke, Duskin's stubble-lined cheek twitched with excitement, "Because not only have I been told that violence is tolerated in this interrogation… but it is positively encouraged."

He punctuated the last word with a firm punch to Dao's mouth. Dao, unprepared, lurched to the side, slipping to the floor. All admiration had disappeared now, and he seemed almost bored as he stepped on Dao's wrist, digging his heal into his pulse-point.

Dao jaw clenched in agony, making strange snorting noises in his efforts not to scream out.

"Now this isn't a punishment, Dao," Duskin said. "It is an interrogation. That means, the faster you give me what I want, the faster this ends."

"I don't know what you want," Dao spat.

_'Ask him.'_

Duskin gave a nod as Mycroft gave him his instructions.

"I am going to ask you a question. If I have to ask it again, I'm going to be displeased. And if _I'm _displeased,_ you're_ displeased. So, here goes: what have you done to the Holmes girl?"

Dao glared, gathering the courage to bear his teeth, "You know, in Chinese, my name is Dao… it means knife. Fitting, yes?"

Duskin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You didn't answer my question."

With what seemed like no effort at all, Duskin's heel jerked to the left with the speed of a bullet, and Dao screamed in agony as his wrist snapped. Duskin didn't relinquish the pressure.

"I don't need to warn you again, I hope. What have you done to the Holmes girl?"

Dao shook his head, back arched in pain, "I can't… I can't… _stop."_

"I bet she said that to you," Duskin said calmly. "Did she plead with you to stop? Was she begging you as she bled?"

In the observation room, John averted his gaze from the glass, disturbed by the image that sentence put into his head. Sherlock and Mycroft remained their usual stoic selves, but an ever so slight twitch of the eye and tense of a muscle showed that their thoughts were mirroring John's.

"Get him to move this along," Sherlock said lowly to Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded and relayed the order to speed the process up.

Dao's breaths were getting shallower, his previous beating beginning to catch up with him. Making the most out of his momentary weakness, Duskin lifted him off the ground with one hand and slammed him against the wall, shifting his grasp to the man's throat. Dao sobbed.

"I could easily do this all day but apparently I can't so you're going to tell me what you've done, and I will let you down from here, preferably before you choke to death," Duskin added nonchalantly, then tilted his head at the man. "Deal? Are you going to tell?"

Dao wrapped the bloodied fingers of his right hand around Duskin's, and nodded furiously, clawing for breath.

Duskin, satisfied, removed the pressure on his throat and moved to his shoulders instead, Dao still suspended in the air.

"I was under orders, you have to understand," Dao pleaded, all traces of the man who claimed to enjoy carving up a teenager gone. "Please understand."

"Whose orders? To do what? Tell me straight or I break your collar bone," Duskin said matter-of-factly.

"It was a drug!" Dao cried. "I was told t-t-to give it to her while she was unconscious."

"And what did this drug do? I'm guessing it wasn't your everyday crank and crack."

"An amnesia pill. When she sleeps, the brain slows down its normal activity. The pill jumpstarts it and speeds it back up. The brain can't cope with the speeds in which it is processing and has to shut something off so it doesn't shut down completely. It resorts to the thing using up most of the energy, which is the memory and wipes the records so to speak of the previous day before she fell asleep," Dao explained through gritted teeth, breaths becoming shallower.

Duskin noted the slowing of the man's vitals and knew he didn't have much more time.

"That would have worn off by now. That was nine days ago."

"The… the doctor who has been treating her… he put it in the blood transfusion. He has a newborn son and bills to pay…"

Duskin paused for a moment, then nodded, "Thank you for your co-operation. I'd love to kill you now but I've only been paid to interrogate so I'm sure that pleasure has been handed down to someone else. No doubt a newbie," Duskin let Dao clatter to the ground, turning to leave. "Enjoy being target practice."

"Wait!" Dao shouted, diving forward and latching onto his leg. "I-I have a deal."

"You're dying either way," Duskin said.

"No, I know… but if I give you information, will you…" his face contorted in both physical and emotional pain. "Will you make it quick?"

Duskin regarded him for a moment, "That would be up to my employer. Sir?"

Mycroft looked to Sherlock, not for advice – that would be ridiculous – but to gauge his reaction.

"If he gives up information that's useful we could spare his life," John suggested.

"Otherwise?" Sherlock asked.

John remained silent, not wanting to speak the words all three men were thinking. Condemning a man to die wasn't something John wanted on his shoulders.

Thankfully, it was Mycroft who made the call. He pressed the broadcast button on the microphone and spoke to Duskin, informing him of the deal.

Duskin raised his eyebrows fleetingly, then returned to professionalism.

"Go on."

Dao opened his mouth to speak, but the words jammed in his throat.

"_Dao," _Duskin warned, taking a step towards him.

Dao lurched back with a cry, "A-about our sponsor!"

Duskin, oblivious to the feeling of déjà vu experienced by the younger Holmes in the observation room, scoffed, "Really? You have a sponsor? Isn't that convenient."

"No, I swear!" Dao clasped his hands together in prayer. "H-he gave us passage into England. He said that we had to get your attention and give the Holmes girl the drug. He told us what to do with everything. I swear, I swear."

"Why?" Duskin pressed, beginning to be swayed.

"He said 'just to say hi'."

_'Ask him the name' _Sherlock demanded through the earpiece.

"What is your sponsor's name?" Duskin asked.

Dao began to sob.

"I can't… I am sorry."

Duskin reached out and shook him roughly, jolting his broken bones.

"I can't, he'll kill me!" Dao screamed. "He'll kill me and everyone I ever knew. He'll hurt them. He'll hurt everyone, don't you see?! I CAN'T!"

"SAY IT!" Duskin roared, twisting the man's wrist back.

Immersed in his piercing screams, was the barely-intelligible name, "MORIARTY!"

Dao's eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. Duskin frowned as Dao's mouth seemed to dislodge in an effort to breathe, fingers clawing at his chest. With one, scraping, juddering inhale, Dao fell to the floor limp and unmoving.

Duskin knelt beside him, taking his pulse. He turned back to the glass, of which he knew his employers could see through, "He's dead."

Everything was still for a moment before the door to the cell opened, and Sherlock and John entered, amidst a shout of, 'I can't recommend that, sirs!' from one of the soldiers.

John (ever the doctor) knelt at his side and took his pulse. There was no throb beneath his fingers. Mycroft watched from the doorway.

"He _is_ dead," John muttered in disbelief, "How can he be dead? You only gave him a few broken bones, nothing life-threatening."

"I would have informed you if I had," Duskin said coolly, standing aside for the men.

Sherlock looked down at the corpse of Dao thoughtfully.

"Take off his shirt."

"What?" John wrinkled his nose.

"Didn't you hear me? Take off his shirt."

Mycroft looked at his little brother curiously before he caught on.

"Do it, Doctor Watson,"

John undid the buttons on the man's shirt with disgust. Under the garment was freshly forming bruises from his previous beatings but the only mark that Sherlock was interested in was the scar across the man's chest. He pointed to it.

"Pacemaker," he explained, "Someone made it pulse, that was why he was clawing at his chest. His heart was already in a regular rhythm, shocking it would make it irregular, killing him."

"How? No one's been near him apart from us."

Sherlock brows pulled together, "By remote control."

"Who has the technology to do that?" John murmured.

Sherlock straightened up.

"Someone powerful, my guess is this Moriarty character, it happened as soon as his name was mentioned. The moment he said about the sponsor, he took control of the pacemaker, giving him fifteen seconds for his heart to completely give in."

"Jesus," John breathed.

"I will have my men deal with the body. I believe our niece is in need of some company, dear brother. Anthea has already informed the police is having the doctor in charge of Alex arrested," Mycroft said. "Thank you, Duskin."

Duskin bowed his head – though without the respect expected – and Sherlock had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last time he would be hearing from the Russian.

Nevertheless, he nodded to the man and allowed John to exit out of the door first. He took one last look at Dao's body and smiled to himself. Justice had been done.

**Moriarty just got even more evil... It took me quite a while to come up with some way that Moriarty could kill Dao while not actually being in the room and also showing how powerful he is. Hopefully you thought that was convincing enough :). Oh and this was a hugely important chapter to remember, ooh, in about one hundred chapters or so ;).**

**HUGE: E.I Cochrane,** **tinuviel21, rycbar15, Megthegoodtwin, GottaLoveTen,** **xXSchmayXx**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	23. Scrabble

**Disclaimer: Nope I only own Alex, all rights to everything apart from her go to the BBC**

**Author's Note: Hello! I really liked writing this chapter since it gets quite humorous towards the end ;) **

_Previously-_

_"I will have my men deal with the body. I believe our niece is in need of some company, dear brother. Anthea has already called Lestrade and is having the doctor in charge of Alex arrested," Mycroft said. "Thank you, Duskin."_

_Duskin bowed his head – though without the respect expected – and Sherlock had a feeling that it wouldn't be the last time he would be hearing from the Russian._

_Nevertheless, he nodded to the man and allowed John to exit out of the door_

Alex awoke to the feeling of a thin, restrictive blanket on top of her. All she had to do was inhale the scent to know that she was still in the hospital. She groaned and rubbed her eyes. She was quite surprised to see that neither Sherlock nor John was with her like they had been for the previous five days since they had interrogated Dao.

Alex pulled herself into a sitting position and marvelled at the work of the painkillers that she was on. The pain in her shoulder was barely above a twinge.

"Time to get out of here then," she muttered and she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Her now swelling free feet brushed against the cold floor for the first time in two weeks. Now was the tricky part. She knew that when you didn't use your muscles for that length of time, they grew weaker. She knew that after she broke her leg when she was eight. Holding tightly onto the handrail next to the bed, she heaved herself up and swayed slightly. The room span but soon bounced back into focus.

Phase Two. Alex pulled off the disgusting hospital gown that she had been forced into and pulled on her baggy leggings and loose fitting shirt. The shirt proved to be more difficult because of her shoulder. The first three buttons she left undone so as not to aggravate the still healing wound, thereby subconsciously making the shirt she was wearing a little less modest than she intended.

"Hm," she said as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.

The bruises had faded mostly, only a few yellow splotches on her cheekbones now. Her right eye was slightly puffier than the left, but only if you looked closely, and honestly, Alex had looked worse after having a bad night's sleep.

The thought crossed her mind that she should have called Logan – he wouldn't have known everything that had happened. He would no doubt be worrying. And, when she thought about the last time they had spoken, she couldn't help the feeling of worry settle inside her.

"Well," Alex sighed, "Can't put it off forever."

She shuffled over to one of her bags that carried her stuff that had been brought over by John. She pulled out her bag. She pulled on a knitted fuchsia coloured beanie hat to cover her face, the bruises were still visible, after all.

Alex sent a look to the window. After being laid up in a hospital bed for two weeks, the thought of being outside was like Christmas morning. She couldn't just walk out, the detail Mycroft had on her wouldn't let her leave the room unless Sherlock or Mycroft gave permission – which they wouldn't do until they got there.

But she just couldn't wait. She could slip out unnoticed and just meet her uncles outside in the fresh air when they pulled up. She could just wait in the little park opposite. The thought made her grin wildly, and she made her way over to the window.

The room led to the back of the hospital away from the road so she didn't need to worry about being spotted and it was only two floors up in the private section. Thank goodness for having such an important uncle. She opened the window and perched precariously on the sill. If she hadn't been recently injured, Alex would have just dropped and rolled but with her shoulder in the condition that it was in, she quickly decided against her usual tactic.

_Drainpipe_

She latched her fingers firmly around the pipe.

She took a deep breath and slipped from the safety of the window to wrap around the drainpipe. Alex buzzed with the familiar feeling of liberation, just hanging by her own two hands, there was nothing better.

It didn't take long to shimmy down and land lightly just outside the fence of the hospital. She was officially free. Taking her phone out of her pocket, Alex dialled in Logan's number.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Logan" Alex grinned into the phone as she crossed the road.

_"ALEX! Where the hell have you been?!"_

"Oh you know, got beaten up, drugged, kidnapped. Just the usual," Alex said casually. "Oh, did I miss the maths mocks?"

_"Oh my God!" _Logan exclaimed, completely disregarding her question._ "Are you in hospital?"_

"Well, I _was_."

_"Where should I meet you?" _

"The park just around the corner from your house. I am literally a five second walk away from it," Alex replied. "The one opposite the hospital."

_"On my way!"_

Alex grinned and slammed her mobile shut as she hopped over the low bar fence leading into the park next to her. In no time at all, Alex saw the approaching form of Logan jogging towards her. He stopped abruptly and took in her appearance with his mouth hanging open.

"What?"

Logan struggled for words. He was used to seeing her with some corpse's blood matted in her hair or with tatty school uniform. Bar the bruises, she looked so different, especially in the light of the sun.

"Y-you l-look uh," he stuttered. "You don't look dead. That's good."

"Thanks. That _is _good," her eyes narrowed as she noticed something on the side of his neck. "Is that a bruise?"

"Oh," he flushed. "Nothing. It's nothing."

She walked closer to him, brow furrowed. She pushed down his collar and he swallowed. There was a large, purple bruise that stretched from his hairline down to just below his shoulder.

"How did you do that?"

"I just… I fell."

"Liar, someone did that. Who?"

"No one."

"Tell me."

"I got into a fight, that's it."

"With who?"

"It doesn't matter, and anyway, you're one to talk about being bruised."

Alex had to give him that one, "Do they really look that bad?"

"Well, a little."

"Can you sort of cover them?"

Logan cleared his throat and moved one of her curls to cover her eye, separating it out to cover the discolouration.

"Thanks–"

"Yeah, I–"

"Other side?"

"It looks fine–"

"Great–"

"Actually, if you just, moved your hat to the side a bit," Logan gently tucked his fingers under the knitted hat, sliding it down so that it covered the thin cut on her jawline.

His fingers hovered there, barely brushing the little scab with the pad of his thumb. Alex's spine turned to water.

"Logan…" she said quietly.

His hand had moved to her lip, sweeping across the small pink skin were it had split and healed again. His thumb remained there, fingers curling around her chin and tilting it upwards. After a few seconds of deliberation, he forward and pressing his lips softly against hers. "I want to keep you safe," Logan whispered.

"From what?" Alex breathed, hyperaware of the feeling of his lips trembling against hers. From people like Shan and the Black Lotus? It was a sweet sentiment but Alex doubted her 5ft, physically weak, slightly overweight best friend would be able to do much against the people in Alex's life.

"I'm a bad person, Alex," he murmured.

"You're not."

"You don't understand."

Alex frowned, "What are you talking about?"

He swallowed, looking furious with himself.

"Hey," Alex soothed. "You're not a bad person. You don't have a bad bone in your body."

The look on his face was one of complete self-loathing, so powerful that Alex felt an unstoppable impulsion to make it stop. Not knowing what else to do, Alex rose up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. It was a sickening moment before he began to kiss her back, a hand resting between her shoulder blades. But even then there was something there, something frightened and childlike about the way he kissed her. Though, given both of their lack of experience, she imagined he felt the same way about her kiss.

He wasn't smiling when he pulled back, and just enveloped Alex in his arms. She cradled her injured arm to her chest but hugged him back fiercely with her other one, nuzzling into his neck.

"It's okay, Logan," she whispered. "Whatever it is you're thinking about. It's okay."

He held her tighter, then let go and stepped away from her. His expression was still disturbed, but then it suddenly shifted into one of pure terror.

"Logan?" Alex asked, startled by the rapid change in demeanour.

He just stared over her shoulder.

"What?"

Logan nodded behind her with a terrified look on his face. Alex braced herself, expecting to see a Chinese operative holding a gun to the back of her head. Instead, she turned and found something much, _much _worse.

A furious looking Sherlock Holmes stood in the middle of the path, glaring murderously at Logan.

Alex's eyes widened as she whispered to Logan.

"Oh my God."

"What do I do?" he breathed back shakily.

"I'd run," she glanced between Logan and Sherlock. "Now."

Not needing to be told twice, Logan span on his heel and sprinted back the way he came back to his house. Alex grimaced as she turned back to Sherlock.

"Hey… Uncle Sherlock," she laughed nervously.

Sherlock just glowered at her.

"Car. Go. Now," he ordered through gritted teeth.

Alex immediately stooped her head and walked hastily over to the same big, black car that she had warned Logan about. She opened the door and sunk down in the seat next to John and opposite Mycroft.

"Where have you been?!" Mycroft barked, an angry glint in his eye.

"I just got bored. I wanted some fresh air, that's all. I was gonna meet you on the hospital steps but I just crossed over to the park," she implored. "I'm sorry."

"Didn't it occur to you to tell someone?" Mycroft asked.

Alex looked away in shame, she supposed that had been stupid, "I was just being impatient."

Mycroft stared at her intensely for a few more seconds before his face softened and he nodded.

"Don't do it again."

"Friends?" Alex tried with an innocent smile.

"I suppose."

John smiled slightly at the scene as Sherlock slipped in next to him.

"Anyway, it wasn't like I was far away. Just the park next door."

"Oh yes, just the park next door," Sherlock spat, "In the park next door shoving your tongue down Logan Baxter's throat."

"What?"

Anthea's head whipped around from her position in the front seat.

"Seriously? Any good?" she asked excitedly.

Anthea was met by four glares and an eye roll from the driver. She raised her hands in surrender and turned back to face out of the windscreen, secretly listening.

Alex winced and bit her lip, remembering her conversation in his living room a few weeks previously.

"Well this is awkward," she whispered under her breath.

"Alex… just… start explaining," Mycroft asked in a forced calm.

Alex coughed uncomfortably,

"Um… he was worried and he… was sad," she gestured to her shoulder, "so he um… kissed me. Then I kissed him. But I mean–"

Sherlock had his hand clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

"Look, I'm a big girl now," she defended, a little irked by their overreaction.

John decided to speak, seeing that Sherlock and Mycroft were not going to,

"So are you and _Logan _together then?"

"I think, well, I don't know. Probably. He didn't really say. Maybe. I'm rather confused on that point_,_" she answered truthfully and turned to her uncles, "It was going to happen sooner or later. Everyone that I know got their first boyfriend when they were eleven."

"You're only fourteen though," Sherlock snapped.

"Almost fifteen."

Before Sherlock could retort, the driver pulled up onto the curb outside Baker Street. Alex promptly dashed out and sped up the stairs up to her bedroom before she could get interrogated any more.

Sherlock, John and Mycroft sighed as they watched the teen sprint inside before following themselves.

"I thought we may have had a little longer," Mycroft shook his head slightly.

"She's growing up, you can't stop it," John remarked, slightly confused at the Holmes brothers' reaction.

Sherlock just huffed and dragged out Alex's bag into the flat.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Alex shuffled into the living room out of boredom more than anything. She had been up in her bedroom just staring at her ceiling and pondering the last couple of weeks. She had been beaten, stabbed, drugged, kidnapped, almost killed, knocked unconscious, locked up inside a soul-draining hospital for two weeks, and then the whole <em>Logan <em>situation had happened.

He had been so different from the happy, chatty boy she had known for most of her life. That look in his eye, that had been more than nerves. And the bruise. She would have to do some investigating.

But for now, she was done with her brooding and was seriously bored out of her mind.

"Hey, Sherlock," she greeted her uncle warmly.

Sherlock looked up from his book.

"Hello." It seemed there was nothing to be said about earlier. Excellent.

She flopped down next to him and threw her legs over him lazily. Sherlock was silent for a few seconds before throwing down his book and facing his niece.

"What do you want?"

"I'm bored," she whined.

John took this moment to emerge from the kitchen with a mug of tea.

"Oh hey, Alex. What are you doing down?" he asked pleasantly.

"Bored."

John looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Why don't we play a board game?" he suggested.

"No, Sherlock always cheats," Alex sighed.

Sherlock sat up straight in his chair.

"I do not cheat!" he spluttered.

Alex gave him a disbelieving look.

"I wouldn't want to play a mind rotting board game like some common sheep," Sherlock sniffed.

"Aww, is little Sherlock scared that I'll beat him?" Alex mocked.

Sherlock looked properly offended but soon morphed into a look of 'purr-lease'.

Alex narrowed her eyes at him and put her hand underneath the sofa. She patted around amongst the dust, pens, pennies, decomposing limbs and finally, three battered boxes of board games. She pulled them out in a cloud of dust and laid them on the table.

"Choose your game," she ordered to Sherlock.

He leant forward and propped his elbows on his knees as he inspected the boxes. The peeling covers of _Monopoly, Kaplunk _and_ Scrabble _stared back at him. He pushed Monopoly to the side. Way too easy. It was now between Kaplunk and Scrabble. Deciding that Scrabble was slightly more intelligently inclined, therefore giving him an advantage, Sherlock picked up the game and cleared the table of Kaplunk and several books.

John sat in the arm chair. Alex gave a small nod at the game choice, a deadly serious look on her face. She walked slowly to the bookshelf and pulled out three different dictionaries. _The English Concise Dictionary_, _Collins Pocket Dictionary_ and _Little Monster's First Alphabet_ from when Alex was little. She smirked; she could see a brawl in the making.

She made her way purposely gradually and placed the three dictionaries down on the table, spreading them out so the boys could clearly see the covers. She had her eye fixated on _The English Concise Dictionary_.

"On the count of three, choose your weapons. One… Two," John and Sherlock began to rise from their seats slightly, "… Three!"

Alex dived for her dictionary and pulled it immediately to her chest safely. Her book had been secured.

Both Sherlock and John had thrown themselves forward to the _Collins Pocket Dictionary_, neither wanting to be lumbered with the three year old vocabulary in the other alternative. Sherlock managed to secure the book in his long fingers just a second before John, making the man scowl.

"It isn't my fault that you are too sl-"

John dived on Sherlock, cutting off his sentence and sending them both toppling over the back of the sofa. The book skidded out from Sherlock's hand and landed two feet away from both of their noses. They exchanged glances before shoving the other back to get to the book. John pulled Sherlock's purple shirt by the collar. Sherlock coughed and spluttered as his air supply was temporarily cut off. John used his friend's moment of incapacity to lunge forward. Sensing John's movements, Sherlock twisted his knee into his flat mate's back and managed to grasp the book, standing up in triumph and thrusting the dictionary in the air. John grumbled as he dejectedly pulled himself up and had to endure Sherlock's smug grin. But not for long. As Sherlock turned back to the table, John stepped up onto the armrest and jumped onto Sherlock's back. Sherlock spun around in surprise and John swiped the dictionary from his loose grip.

"VICTORY!" John shouted, his face splitting into a beaming smile.

Sherlock scowled and dropped back into the sofa. He grudgingly picked up the _Little Monster's First Alphabet_.

"Amazing, the strong feelings that dictionaries can provoke," Alex remarked.

John flopped into the armchair as Alex settled on the floor and lifted the crumbling lid off the box.

"Before we begin, make your promises," Alex declared.

John frowned in confusion, having never played by the Holmes rules.

"I'll start," she said, "If I win, you have to decrease my 'lockdown' to two weeks."

"Three," Sherlock negotiated automatically.

Alex rolled her eyes but nodded, it was better than the two months they had initially set out, "And if I lose, I will do all of the washing up for the next fortnight."

John took his go, "If I win, you two have to wear those matching jumpers that I bought for you both," Alex and Sherlock shuddered, "And if I lose, you get to burn them."

Alex and John turned to Sherlock, both eager to hear his promise.

"If I win… I get to do the full corpse dissection that I have been wanting to do in here. If I lose… hmm… If I lose, I will change my name to Jennifer," he promised confidently.

Alex burst out laughing at the prospect and vowed to play her very best.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, John came in from the kitchen holding out three mugs of tea.<p>

"Here you go, Alex. Here you go, Jennifer," John smirked as he handed out the tea.

Alex took her mug and brought it to her lips as she tried not to laugh.

"Hey, I would have won if you hadn't spelt 'casern' with a 'z'," Sherlock cried for the thirteenth time.

"It is an alternative spelling," John defended shortly.

"Yeah, in Sweden maybe!"

"Jennifer, admit defeat gracefully," Alex chided, failing at keeping a straight face.

"I don't know what you're laughing at," Sherlock retorted, "You're washing these mugs up, remember."

Alex's face immediately dropped the grin as she remembered the fact. Any further arguments were postponed however when a knock at the door sounded. Alex and Sherlock bolted up and opened it, hoping to God that it was a case.

You can imagine the confusion of Gregory Lestrade's face when he saw Alex and Sherlock stood before him with matching black jumpers with white writing saying 'Tweedle Dee' and 'Tweedle Dumb' and a smug looking John sipping his tea with his feet up on a harpoon-smashed coffee table.


	24. Original Case - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, I only own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I just realised very early this morning that this fanfiction is exactly a month old! Woo!**

**This is the beginning of my original case, enjoy-**

_Previously-_

_"I don't know what you are laughing at," Sherlock retorted, "You are washing these mugs up remember."_

_Alex's face immediately dropped its grin as she remembered the fact. Any further arguments were postponed however when a knock at the door sounded. Alex and Sherlock bolted up and opened it, hoping to God that it was a case._

_You can imagine the confusion of Gregory Lestrade's face when he saw Alex and Sherlock stood before him with matching black jumpers with white writing saying 'Dumb' and 'Dumber' and a smug looking John sipping his tea with his feet up on a smashed coffee table._

Lestrade looked between the three of him and shook his head.

"I don't even want to know," he muttered.

"Do you have a case for us then?" Alex asked eagerly.

"Someone's keen," he smiled, "And yes."

"Why have you come to us? What's strange about it?" Sherlock questioned.

"You'll have to just come and see," Lestrade told him, "When you have time, make your way over to St Bart's, private ward forty seven."

Alex stiffened.

"That was the ward I was on wasn't it?" she frowned.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in thought and nodded.

"Well, a body has been found there with something a little bit strange in their hand," Lestrade informed them.

John looked to Sherlock bemusedly.

"We'll be right over," Sherlock decided and shut the door in Lestrade's face.

"Sherlock, I wish you wouldn't do that," Alex moaned as she heard Lestrade's cursing and heavy thuds down the stairs.

"Why waste my breath saying goodbye? A swift tap of a door does exactly the same job," he snipped.

John pulled on his coat and Alex put on her shoes. Sherlock just stood staring at the wall in thought.

"Sherlock?" John snapped his fingers in front of Sherlock's face.

Sherlock shot out of his stupor and pulled on his scarf.

"Well come on then!"

* * *

><p>On the first floor, the trio were approached by Sally Donovan.<p>

"Oh great, the freaks are here yet again!" she groaned dramatically.

"You really ought to stay away from mirrors Sally," Sherlock mocked.

Sally opened her mouth to retort as Alex pushed passed unnoticed and into the room that she had been staying in for the past two weeks.

The room was void of the forensic team, having been sent out under Sherlock's orders. Lestrade, John, Sherlock and Donovan were stood arguing outside so Alex was alone. The white floor was stained with a pool of deep red blood. From just behind the bed, Alex could see a pale, almost translucent hand peeking out on the floor. She made her way over to it and crouched down to the body of a man.

Alex looked behind her and was glad to see that the room was still deserted. Deciding to put Sherlock's teachings to the test, she began to mutter under her breath like she used to when she was a child, making stuff up. Now it was time to see if she could actually rival Sherlock.

"Puncture marks on the abdomen and chest. Looks about fifty – more frown lines than laugh lines so obviously having quite a stressful job. The lines are very prominent meaning that he has been in the job for a while but he hasn't left, probably because of money so it is a well-paid job. Wearing a casual yet smart shirt and trousers, not something to go out in so once again for his work. That rules out any uniformed jobs or without a dress code. A man who clearly has a body odour problem and has a grand theft auto wristband would not wear attire like this by his own accord," she paused and reached into his trouser pocket. Her fingers caught against some kind of paper. She pulled it out to reveal a rolled up post it note with the words MAU written on. The rest of the word was ripped off.

"Probably ripped by the murderer," a voice said from behind. "Or he's just careless."

Alex gasped in surprise and turned to find Sherlock smirking at her.

"Jesus, don't do that, you will give me a bloody heart attack! How long have you been stood there?"

"About half way through your little monologue there. It would have been impressive if I hadn't been me," he answered cockily.

Alex rolled her eyes and straightened up.

"Was I right then?"

"Pretty much. What can you expect, you learnt from the best."

"Yeah, Mycroft was so generous that day," Alex teased and ducked a playful swipe to the head.

"You did forget to mention the lock though," Sherlock commented.

"The lock?" Alex frowned.

Her Uncle pointed around to the other side of the body and sat in the left hand was a small silver padlock.

"What the-?" Alex muttered as she crouched down to inspect the object carefully.

Sherlock gazed at his niece thoughtfully. She caught him staring from the corner of her eye and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Alex, how would you feel if I told you to take this case on your own?"

Alex's eyes widened in disbelief and she stumbled back a step.

"W-what?"

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards.

"Under certain conditions of course."

"Anything," Alex replied instantly, "Just tell me and I'll abide by them."

"Rule one: you show me every clue you find," Sherlock rattled off in his usual hundred-mile-an-hour speed, "Rule two: you confide every deduction that you make to me. Rule three: you tell no-one but John and I about our agreement. Rule four: you do not under any circumstances go off on your own. Rule five: if it gets too dangerous, I take over without complaint. Rule six: if John or I give you any instruction, you obey immediately."

Alex nodded slowly as she absorbed her regulations.

"What if… John tells me to run and you to stay?"

"Obey me. I am cleverer than him and therefore am more adapt and experienced in keeping you safe," Sherlock replied easily.

Alex chuckled fondly as her uncle turned to rescue John from Donovan. Once he was out of sight, Alex bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly and let out a silent, excited scream. She was going to be in charge of an actual case! She had always just followed Sherlock, now she was going to be taking the lead. It was going to be brilliant. But terrifying. Mostly brilliant.

"Has Sherlock found anything yet then?" Lestrade asked as he popped his head around the corner.

"Oh, um, no. Well, yes. We're back to the flat to investigate. He has pictures," Alex lied, remembering condition three.

Lestrade gave a cheerful nod and backed out of the room.

"Pictures," she muttered to herself, "There's a thought."

Alex took out her camera phone and snapped a few pictures on different angles just like Sherlock did. Satisfied with her handy work, she smiled to herself and stuffed the evidence in her pocket. She took one last look at the body laid on the floor and did something that she had never seen Sherlock do. She knelt down next to him and gently closed his eyes with the tips of her fingers.

"Sorry," Alex said quietly, realising that her excitement had been extremely disrespectful. "I'll do my best, I promise."

Alex straightened up and walked back out onto the steps of the hospital where Sherlock and John were waiting.

"Got everything you need?" Sherlock asked.

"Do we know his name? The body I mean," Alex asked.

"Nope, he was found with no wallet or phone so we have no clue who he is, that is another thing that you have to find out," Sherlock smirked and held out his arm for her to take.

* * *

><p>Back at Baker Street, Alex had printed off the photos from the camera and stuck them onto the mirror and was staring at them intently. It made no sense, the lock. It just… why? Why would someone place a lock in the palm of someone that they had just killed?<p>

Sherlock sat in the far corner of the room secretly reviewing his niece's work. If she was to take over from him one day, she would have to be able to solve cases on her own.

Alex put her hand in her pocket to pull out a tissue when a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Frowning, she picked it up and realised that it was the post it note from the body with the printed letters MAU on them. It had to be from the place where he worked, there was no other explanation since he was still in his uniform and clearly hadn't gone home before he was killed.

Walking over to the computer, Alex murmured the letters over and over in her head. She couldn't help but feel that she had heard them before. She pulled out the keyboard and typed in MAU. The first thing that came on the drop down box was MAURITIUS, the country. Alex shook her head. It couldn't be the country. The second suggestion was MAURICIO POCHETTINO, the footballer. Definitely not.

Deciding that her technique was getting her nowhere, she took out the post it note again and carefully scrutinized the font. The writing was golden in colour and the letters looped majestically, obviously from a successful company. She just needed to find which one. She typed in 'jobs at Mau…' to see what the suggestions were. JOBS IN MAURITUS came up first again and was instantly ignored, it clearly had nothing to do with the country. Second this time, was JOBS AT MAUDSLEY HOSPITAL in South London. That could be it! That would explain the hospital connection. Alex clicked on the site and found the telephone number in the contact us section.

"Sherlock, could you throw me your phone?" Alex asked without taking her eyes off the screen.

He obliged and threw the Blackberry to her.

Alex punched in the number and pressed the green button.

"Hello, welcome to Maudsley General Hospital, this is Sandra Claire speaking. How can I help?" the receptionist gushed out in one breath, obviously having well-rehearsed the speech.

Alex put on her best 'adult, serious business' voice.

"Hello, my name is Detective Inspector Lestrade and I am calling from Scotland Yard as part of a murder enquiry. Could I please speak to your manager?"

Sherlock grinned proudly at Alex's convincing voice and language. When he mouthed, 'Lestrade'?, she mouthed back, 'Georgia Lestrade!'.

"Oh, of course. I will put you on straight away!" the receptionist said, shuffling soon ensuing from the other end of the phone.

Alex thought the woman was probably just glad of some excitement.

"Hello?" a male voice spoke.

"Hello, I trust your receptionist has informed you of the nature of this phone call?" Alex supposed.

"Yes, yes. A murder!? Good grief!" the man exclaimed.

"We have reason to believe that one of your staff may have been involved," Alex informed him solemnly.

"Involved? Like a victim or the murderer?!" Alex could hear the man working himself up into a fret at the prospect that one of his employees could be a killer.

"Stay calm, we don't know for sure if any of your staff are involved at all and I'm afraid that I cannot disclose any more information than that," she took a breath, rapidly trying to think of what she should say next. "Now, would you be able to send me a list of all of your employees please with their files attached to Lestrade_Gregory please," Alex requested professionally.

"Your name's Gregory?" the manager said suspiciously.

"Oh Detective Inspector _Gregory_ Lestrade is my husband. We're working together now, it's a rough time at the moment, what with the suicides, that I am sure you know about, happening recently," Alex smoothly pulled the man's attention away from the name.

"Oh yes, terrible business, terrible business. I will send the files over immediately and do keep me updated with the situation."

"Of course. As soon as we get any news concerning your staff, I will contact you immediately," Alex assured, "Thank you for your time."

Alex closed the phone and let out a breath. She turned suddenly when she heard clapping and saw John leaning against the doorframe with an amazed look on his face.

"Where did you learn to lie like that?!"

"Sherlock preferred for me to call it manipulating. Lying sounds like something kids do to find an excuse for their missing homework, he used to say," Alex shot him a grin. "Mum used to go mad."

"Call it what you will, that was pretty damn impressive," John complemented, "Just one thing, how will you get the email from Lestrade's computer?"

Just then, a whoosh sounded from the computer.

"I have everybody's emails on separate tabs on the computer. All I need to do is encrypt the email and change the subject to make it look like junk mail," Alex explained simply.

She double tapped on the header of the email and typed, _PPI reclaim has helped over 3000 different… _There was no way that Lestrade was ever going to open that. Inside the email were the profiles of over two thousand employees. Alex groaned and put her head in her hands.

"Uncle Sherlock, can you help me?" she asked innocently, batting her eye lashes for good measure.

"No," he replied blankly, "I need to know that you can cope with a case completely on your own so no help from John or I."

Alex grumbled, turned to the computer screen and clicked _print_.

Two hours later, the enormous pile had been split into male and female. Alex resisted the urge to throw the female pile out of the window but instead opted for just shoving them to the side. All there was left to do now was sort through the one thousand, one hundred and thirty five male employees to find a picture that matched the body.

Four hours later, Alex was beginning to droop. Dusk had settled outside the window and John had put on the little glowing lamp in the corner of the room that always made Alex feel ten times more sleepy than she was. Sherlock was currently writing a new essay on his website _The Science of Deduction _and John was chatting to Sarah over email. Alex sighed and turned to the next person.

_Matthew Horris_

_29_

_Consultant_

Nope. Picture didn't match. Reject pile. Next one.

_Daniel Mauston_

_35_

_Assistant manager_

Nope. Picture didn't match. Reject pile. Next one.

_Lawrence Adams_

_27_

_Cleaner_

Nope. Picture didn't match. Reject Pile. Next one.

_Finley Strasburg_

_53_

_Paediatrician_

Nope. Match didn't picture. Reject Pile. Next one.

_Mark Austin_

_32_

_Therapist_

_Nope. Batch picture doesn't wrong one, no… Pile Reject… next… hm, something smells nice, this carpet is comfortable, maybe just one min-_

Alex's head fell forward into the pile of sheets with a dull thud as the urge to sleep overcame her. Sherlock looked up with mild interest and held his hand out to John.

"Cough up."

John grumbled and fished around in his pocket for a fiver.

"I thought she had more self-restraint than that," John sighed as he handed over the money to Sherlock.

"Unfortunately, Alex must take after her father for the amount of sleep she needs. It is like having a car that won't get to the end of Baker Street without having to be filled up. She does have the Holmes lack of appetite however, so that is something to make up for it."

"Did you ever meet her father?" John asked curiously.

A dark look passed over Sherlock's face.

"No, but I would like to, for Maybelline _and_ Alex's sake. Though, I would have to find a suitable gun to take," he muttered venomously.

Seeing that it was a touchy subject, John cautiously worded his next sentence,

"I know that you must be angry with him for doing that to your sister but without him, Alex wouldn't have been born so…"

Sherlock's face softened as he stooped down to pick up his sleeping niece.

"I suppose so. It doesn't stop me from shooting him now though."

John chuckled and carried on emailing Sarah. Sherlock brought Alex into her room and laid her on the bed. He took off her shoes and cardigan and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Alex subconsciously snuggled further down into her pillow, trapping Sherlock's hand beneath her head. He cleared his throat loudly, but she didn't wake. Growling in annoyance, Sherlock resorted to using his other hand to prise her head from the pillow to retrieve his other one, in the process, waking Alex up.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" she mumbled irritably, slapping his hands away.

"Putting you to bed before you wake up on the floor in the morning and complain about having backache all day, you ungrateful brat."

Alex grinned sleepily, "Night, Sherlock."

"Make sure you're up early."

"Don't worry," Alex said, rolling over. "I'll be up first thing."

Well, four hours _after_ 'first thing'.

**HUGE thank you: Megthegoodtwin,** **GottaLoveTen,** **Tinuviel,** **Kell-bells34,** **Jaz Soph 25.11,** **Xin0Lan,** **rycbar15, Guest, Revella, TC**

**Please review,**

**Thanks for reading,  
><strong>

**Abby**

**X**


	25. Original Case - Part 2

_Previously:_

_"What are you doing, you idiot?" she mumbled irritably, slapping his hands away._

_"Putting you to bed before you wake up on the floor in the morning and complain about having backache all day, you ungrateful brat."_

_Alex grinned sleepily, "Night, Sherlock."_

_"Make sure you're up early."_

_"Don't worry," Alex said, rolling over. "I'll be up first thing."_

_Well, four hours after 'first thing'._

Alex was finally awake enough to acknowledge the fact that she was in her bedroom, but nowhere near awake enough to contemplate leaving her bed, even though the sun streaming through her curtains told her it was quite late.

"Alex, I know you're up! You have a case to solve remember!" Sherlock called up the stairs.

Alex groaned and pulled on the first lot of clothes that her eyes landed on. Checking in the mirror and tying her hair up in a slapdash bobble, she nodded and ignored the fact that she was wearing the jeans with the singe mark from Sherlock's latest experiment. She jogged down the stairs and came to a halt in the living room.

"Attention, sir," she mocked, "What is the situation then? Am I carrying on with the papers?"

Sherlock turned from where he and John were hunched over John's laptop on the kitchen table.

"Afraid not, Lestrade just messaged us. There has been another murder."

"Where at?" Alex asked.

"In the same place," Sherlock replied with a shake of his head.

Alex frowned, "How? The whole floor has been cornered off and is constantly being patrolled by police!"

"I know," Sherlock grinned, "And the murder slipped past them."

He jumped up excitedly and clapped Alex on the shoulder.

"This is fantastic!"

And with that, he was out of the door. Alex turned to John,

"Aww, he is cute when he's excited isn't he?"

John laughed and pulled on his coat to follow his friend.

* * *

><p>Alex hopped up the stairs leading to the first floor of the hospital and brushed back the police tape that had been placed around the door.<p>

"Hello, Alex," Lestrade greeted as he saw her emerge from the doorway.

"Hey, murderer slipped past you eh?"

"I have no idea how they did it," Lestrade sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Sherlock, John and I will be able to figure it out," she reassured with a smile.

"I am sure you will," Lestrade smiled back and looked around behind Alex, "Where _are _Sherlock and John?"

"Oh, they are having a row with the taxi driver. Something about having drugs underneath the seat," Alex shrugged.

Lestrade immediately snapped his attention to the pavement outside the window to the taxi.

"Really?"

"Really," Alex nodded seriously. "They told me to send for you. Well, John did. He made Sherlock agree."

"I'll be back in a minute, Alex," he told her as he motioned for some of his officers to follow him out to the taxi.

Once they had disappeared through the tape, Alex burst out laughing and took out her phone.

"They totally fell for it. Are you sure that Michael is up to this?"

"Oh don't worry; he is one of my most trusted in the homeless network. It took all of his willpower not to actually _take_ some of the drugs planted on him," Sherlock replied.

"I didn't even know he could drive to be honest."

"He really can't," Sherlock admitted, "But he is a top class actor so I figured that he would be best suited to the task at hand. Now go and see the body, that's what this is all for after all."

Alex shut off the phone and stuffed it back in her pocket as she entered the same room as she had done yesterday. The man who had been previously murdered had been moved to the morgue and now in his place was a young woman lying motionless on the floor, drenched in her own blood. Alex took out her phone once more, clicked on voice notes and began to talk.

"Victim is female, looking around twenty-twenty five. Puncture marks on the abdomen and chest like previous victim. Victim number 2 displays similar characteristics to Victim number 1 with regards to laugh and frown lines, suggesting she also has a stressful job. Actually, it is possible that they have the same job… that could be the connection," Alex trailed off as her eyes drifted towards another liquid that seemed to be mingling with the blood.

She bent down and uncurled the woman's dead hand and frowned. The woman's palm was completely smothered in jet black ink. The liquid seeped through the lines and crinkles in her hand giving it a spider web effect. It was a sharp contrast from the paleness of the paper white skin that it was staining.

"Victim's left hand is covered with ink, just as Victim number 1's left hand held a lock. These have obviously been killed by the same murderer," Alex clicked the 'stop recording' button and snapped a few pictures as she had done the previous day.

What she really wanted to know was how the police didn't see anything. The murderer would have to sneak not only themselves past police but also whilst carrying a dead body. And that body would have been bleeding heavily, so where was the trail of blood? Did the murderer have the audacity and skill to have time to clear up after themselves? Plus the fact that the hospital was crawling with security.

Alex remembered what Sherlock had told her:

_They must have found something, or at least shown which police and security officers were in the area at the time._

All she had to do now was somehow get down to the security office which was on the floor above next to the elderly patients ward. Alex bent down to the woman.

"Just be a second."

Then she realised that she was talking to a body and shook her head and left.

She was now on the second floor and the security office was right next to her. She cleared her throat and licked her lips, readying her story, before opening the door.

"Sorry, who are you?" a middle-aged man asked from behind a desk surrounded by computers.

Alex managed to catch the name on his tag.

"I'm just getting work experience here, mediocre stuff, you know, just tidying up and following people really," _shut up, irrelevant. _"Um, my supervisor asked for me to get a Mark in security. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, do you?"

"Well, that's me," the man said with a frown. "What's 'appened like?"

"I don't know, she said something about a door being locked when it shouldn't be, she needs you to get the key to unlock it. She's in the maternity ward."

"That's the other end of the hospital," he grumbled, blowing out an annoyed breath as he got out of his chair, "Right, excuse me."

Alex stepped easily out of his way and gave him a smile as he left. Someone obviously loved his job. She pretended to close the door when he glanced back, but slipped in just as it was flush with the doorframe.

Immediately, Alex took out her memory stick that was attached to her house keys, and slotted the stick into the computer in front of her.

She opened up Sherlock's downloading program – which he insisted wasn't illegal – and began to create a duplicate copy of the hospital security system. She extracted the binary code and implanted it onto the memory stick so she had a live feed of all of the security cameras in the hospital. She retracted her now full memory stick and put it in her pocket.

Alex tapped at the keyboard and looped the feed of her in the office back five minutes so all anyone saw if they watched it back was the security man eating doughnuts, hardly anything incriminating. Job done.

She briskly walked out of the main entrance and approached John and Sherlock who were waiting on the curb outside. Michael and the taxi were gone.

"Done?" Sherlock asked – he had basically told her what to do.

"Yep," Alex smiled. "That should do."

"Since dear Michael has been carted off to Scotland Yard, we better hail a cab."

Back in Baker Street, Alex flopped down to the floor once more and immersed herself in the papers. If she could find the first victim, she would be sure to find the second in the female pile of employees at Maudsley Hospital.

"So what did you find then?" John asked as he settled himself in the arm chair.

"Just listen to the video note," Alex told him as she handed him her phone.

Sherlock paused his experiment to listen to his niece's findings. Alex zoned out and fully concentrated on the papers. She had been there; she didn't need to listen to her own ramblings.

There were only about fifty papers left and Alex was starting to get a little nervous. Maybe they didn't work at Maudsley Hospital at all and all of that had been for nothing.

"Oh, and I have the hospital's CCTV on the laptop now," Alex mentioned.

"A live feed?" Sherlock sounded surprised. "How did you manage that?"

"I used that download software that you designed years ago."

Sherlock's look of surprise doubled.

"That still works? Wow, Bartholomew's must be well out of date."

Alex sighed and put her head in her hands as she looked to the last person and found someone completely different from the victims.

"They don't work at Maudsley Hospital after all of that," she groaned.

"I know," Sherlock said blankly.

Alex turned to him slowly,

"What?"

"I know. I knew from the minute you picked up the phone to them that they weren't involved," Sherlock shrugged.

"You mean to tell me…" Alex began quietly with a menacing tone laced in her voice, "That you watched as I slaved away trudging through all of this stuff when you _knew!?" _

Sherlock didn't seem to see the problem.

"Yes," he replied obliviously.

"Why didn't you tell me?!" Alex exclaimed, flailing her arms for emphasis.

"Because you are meant to be figuring this out on your own. If I had told you that they weren't from the hospital, it wouldn't have been a fair test," Sherlock answered simply.

"I am not your experiment!"

"All right children," John interrupted, earning himself two death glares, "Just remember that there are two people dead and their murderer is still out there. Arguing isn't going to bring us any closer to bringing justice, does it?"

"No," Alex mumbled.

John turned to Sherlock.

"No," he mumbled like a child being scolded by his parents.

"Exactly, so Alex, you are going to have to find another lead to follow," John said.

Alex nodded and picked up her phone to call Maudsley Hospital.

"Hello welcome to Maudsley General Hospital, this is Sandra Claire speaking. How can I help?" the receptionist rattled off.

"Hello, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade, we spoke yesterday," Alex began.

"Oh yes! Is everything okay?"

"I was wondering if I could speak to your manager again, please."

"Unfortunately he is in a meeting for another two minutes but I could put you onto the deputy until then?" the woman asked helpfully.

"That would be great, thank you Miss Claire."

Alex heard ruffling until she was passed on to the deputy.

"Hello, this is Mr Mauston," he greeted formally.

"Hello, Mr Mauston, my name is Detective Inspector Jenkins from Scotland Yard. I talked to your boss yesterday about a murder enquiry."

"Oh yes, he told me about it. Have you found anything?"

"I'm afraid I can only tell that to your boss."

"Of course, of course. Well, he shouldn't be long."

There was a moment of silence and Alex began to panic slightly. What did police officers talk about while they were waiting? What would seem less suspicious?

"So… have you been in the job long?" she asked.

Oh yeah, she resorted to small talk.

"Ooh, a good few years now. My father used to work here so I feel rather like I have carried on the family business. My wife works here too, down in the mental health unit…"

Mr Mauston droned on and Alex zoned out, hm-ing and nodding and I know-ing and oh really-ing in all of the right places until the phone was passed on to the manager.

"Hello Detective Inspector. What news do you bear?" he asked pleasantly but Alex could detect the nervousness in his voice.

"We ran a background check on all of your employees and I am sure that you will be happy to know that we have no evidence whatsoever regarding your staff or your hospital."

"Oh, thank the Lord," the man sighed, his voice heavy with relief, "I cannot tell you how long it kept me up last night."

"You and me both," Alex sent a pointed look to Sherlock.

"I hope my second in command didn't bore you too much in my absence?"

"No, no," Alex laughed, "He was very entertaining. Anyway, thank you for your time, sir."

"No problem. I do hope you catch them."

"Oh don't worry, we will," Alex reassured him with a steely glint in her eye as she closed the lid of her phone.

She then made her way over to the laptop and uploaded the live CCTV footage from her laptop onto the screen. It immediately buzzed into life and Alex watched as the people all around the hospital milled around. Some were crying at a loss, some sighing with relief. But Alex wasn't interested. She clicked on the security from the night before last and watched.

"Do we know what time the first one was killed?" Alex asked.

"Both were killed at three o'clock in the morning. That is what Lestrade said," John informed her.

"John, shush," Sherlock hissed.

"What? It isn't like she could have asked Lestrade or he would know that you are letting a fourteen year old take a case!" John defended.

"Almost fifteen," Alex reminded them under her breath and typed in the time frame, "Are you coming to watch?"

Sherlock and John came and leant over the back of the computer chair that Alex was sat in as she clicked 'play'.

A short, stubby looking woman in a nurse's uniform shuffled down the corridor, constantly checking her watch to see if her night shift was over. In her moment of distraction, she caught her leg on the corner of a cleaning trolley and swore loudly as she hopped on one foot. She rubbed her saw leg and carried on limping down the corridor. She was about half way down when suddenly, she disappeared. The screen filled with static and the woman was at the end of the corridor.

Alex checked the time at the top. It had skipped five minutes from frame 02:55:00 to 03:10:00.

"We need to get back over to St Bart's don't we?" Alex asked Sherlock.

He looked down at her and nodded. Alex jumped up and ran down the stairs to hail a cab. Sherlock continued to stare at the screen distractedly.

"Sherlock… are you okay?" John asked in concern.

"What? Yes, yes. I'm fine, now come on before Alex gets in a cab and goes on her own."

John grinned, that seemed like something Alex would do. That was one thing he noticed that was similar between Sherlock and Alex, they were both severely impatient. As if on cue, Sherlock jumped from his seat and dashed down the stairs. He couldn't help the feeling that he may have chosen the wrong case for Alex to solve on her own. He had thought that it would have just been an open and shut murder but it was proving to be slightly more complex.

* * *

><p>Sherlock, John and Alex were stood on the cornered-off floor next to Anderson.<p>

"How are your hands?" Alex asked innocently.

Anderson quickly hid the still pink tinged hands – now slightly faded to look like sunburn – in his pockets and gave Alex a venomous glare.

"How do you get it off? I have been looking like an idiot for weeks!"

"No change from normal then. And I once again have no idea what you are talking about because of course I am just an insolent child who doesn't know anything, so how could I know that potassium chloride is your only hope of getting it off."

Anderson looked at her.

"Thank you," he muttered and stalked off towards Donovan who was on the stairs.

This gave Alex the opportunity to dash towards the CCTV camera on the ceiling of the corridor.

"Sherlock, can I stand on your shoulders?" she asked as she was a good two feet too small to reach it.

Sherlock crouched down to allow Alex to jump on his back and climb up onto his shoulders. She swayed precariously and had to dig in her feet to stop herself from falling.

"Ow," Sherlock whined.

"Oh shut up, that didn't hurt."

She reached up and twisted the camera clockwise. It fell into her hand immediately, only strands of wire connecting it to the ceiling. Alex brought it close to her face and inspected the wiring. Nothing seemed to have been cut or disconnected. Every wire that should be there was there and in perfect condition. She looked up to the ceiling around the fitting and saw no fingerprints scuff marks.

"It doesn't seem to have been tampered with," she told them.

"Remember the Stand case," Sherlock muttered.

Alex pressed her nose against the ceiling around camera.

"No smell of paint. Even if they used the non-scented paint, it takes longer to dry so it would still be wet," she rubbed her fingers against the white, "It's bone dry so they haven't just painted over the marks."

Sherlock bent down and Alex slid off his shoulders.

"So what does that mean?" John asked.

"It means that our murderer is very, _very_ clever and has somehow gotten into the records and wiped them without coming into contact with the camera," Sherlock replied, the feeling that it was beginning to get too dangerous coming back again.

"But… Alex did that. She just did it earlier today," John said.

"Yes, with an encryption/download system that took _me _four months and half of Mycroft's software to create," Sherlock countered.

"Oh."

If it took Sherlock that much, that meant that there was someone out there who could actually rival him. And they had just killed two people.

* * *

><p>By the time the trio got back to Baker Street, it was ten o'clock and everyone (apart from Sherlock, obviously) was feeling tired.<p>

"I off to bed," John announced as soon as they arrived in the living room, "'Night Alex, 'Night Sherlock."

"Goodnight John," Alex replied and stifled a yawn herself, "Actually, I think I am going to have an early night as well."

Just as she was about to mount the stairs to her bedroom, she turned to Sherlock.

"How did you know by the way?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"About the hospital. How did you know?"

Sherlock picked up his violin bow and ran his fingers down it lovingly.

"The post it note with the letters on it. They were printed on and obviously belonged to a company as you pointed out. Maudsley hospital is not a company, it is run by the National Health Service so if anything was to be printed on post it notes there, it would be the NHS, not the hospital name," Sherlock explained in one go.

Alex sighed,

"Of course…" she laughed mirthlessly, "I am such an idiot."

Sherlock looked up from his bow.

"You're really not."

Alex matched his gaze and smiled slightly,

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

Instead of answering, Sherlock picked up his bow and began to play slow tune on the violin. One that was calming yet somehow quite catchy. The tune stuck with her as she climbed up to her bedroom and collapsed on her bed. Little did she know, she would be humming it under her breath for the next few days (whilst trying not to strangle Sherlock for getting it stuck in her head).


	26. Original Case - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Well, here's an update an hour after the last one, haha. This is what happens when you have gale force winds and torrential rain keeping you up all night!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Sherlock looked up from his bow._

_"You're really not."_

_Alex matched his gaze and smiled slightly,_

_"Goodnight Sherlock."_

_Instead of answering, Sherlock picked up his bow and began to play a beautiful melody that reminded Alex of the springtime. The tune stuck with her as she climbed up to her bedroom and collapsed on her bed. Little did she know, she would be humming it under her breath for the next few days (whilst trying not to strangle Sherlock for getting it stuck in her head)._

"Alex! Alex, wake up," someone shook her shoulder roughly.

Alex groaned and rolled over on her side, batting at the infuriating hand that had latched onto her arm.

"Get up, I think your uncle will burst a blood vessel if he has to wait any longer," the voice that Alex recognised as John warned.

"Fine… fine," Alex grumbled as she pulled herself up and rubbed her eyes, "What's happened?"

"Another murder," John informed her sullenly.

Alex's eyes snapped wide open.

"Where at? When? How?" she rattled off.

"You will have to ask Sherlock," John replied and backed out of the room.

Alex looked at her clock and sighed.

03:05

She threw the covers back and pulled on some random clothes that were lurking at the very front of her wardrobe. Not even bothering to look at her hair, Alex sprang down the stairs and into the living room.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" she asked.

Sherlock turned to her from the window.

"We need to get over to St Bart's immediately," he announced.

Alex caught his arm as he was half out of the door.

"John said there's been another murder."

Sherlock nodded and continued down the stairs. Alex frowned, her Uncle's eyes didn't hold the usual glimmer of excitement that they usually gained during a case, all she could see was worry clouding the corner of his eye. She followed him nonetheless into a cab and squeezed in between him and John.

"What's happened then?" she asked.

"Another person has been killed, in the same place at the same time," Sherlock stated.

"How?"

John and Sherlock exchanged glances over the top of her head (which she didn't miss). The taxi came to a halt outside the hospital and Alex was surprised to see that John and Sherlock were coming in with her and not staying to create some kind of diversion like the previous times.

The trio walked onto the corridor and Alex noted that there were significantly more officers than before. Lestrade came out from the hospital room and made his way over to them.

"Thank you for coming. We have no idea how they keep doing it. We had three officers here last night, and all say they hadn't seen anything. Security cameras have been tampered with, no witnesses, no prints, nothing. I-I… I'm lost," he confessed and held an arm out to signal them into the room, "See what you can find."

Sherlock entered first with Alex and John close behind him. The body was an old man. His skin was stretched and wrinkled with age. Liver spots were dotted up his arms and exposed chest. Just like the other two, he was stabbed in his chest and abdomen. Alex swallowed. What had an old man done to deserve a death like that? Sherlock knelt next to the body and motioned for Alex to do the same.

"Go on then. But quietly," he told her.

Alex cleared her throat slightly and took out her mobile. Switching it to voice notes, she began to speak once more,

"Victim is male, looks to be in his mid to late seventies. Puncture marks to neck and abdomen just like previous victims. Shirt's missing. Wedding ring around his finger so wife or husband at home. Wife seems statistically more likely given the era and the fact that the wedding ring is very old. I don't know about his job or the stress level because of how wrinkled his skin is anyway. I assume for consistency he occupied the same job as the others. That seems to be the connection between them. His fingernails are neat and unchipped so that suggests the job that doesn't involve manual labour. He hasn't retired because the alarm on his watch is set to six o'clock in the morning. A retired man wouldn't wake up at that time if he had no job to go to. The button's stiff so he has been in the job for a long time, clearly very experienced and probably well revered within the mystery occupation…" Alex trailed off, "Do we have his shirt?"

Sherlock beckoned Lestrade over and asked him,

"Um yeah, the officer who found him removed it and pressed it to the wound to try and stop the bleeding. He was _just _say hanging on when he was found put passed in the next five minutes before we could administer any proper medical care," Lestrade informed them and handed over the bloodied shirt.

Sherlock took it and waved for Lestrade to go away. The older man raised his hands in surrender and backed out of the room. As soon as he was gone, the clothing was passed to Alex after she had taken some gloves. She took it carefully and tried to ignore the man's blood that was slowly seeping onto blue plastic gloves. She turned it over and tried to find any indicator that could help the case. The shirt was nothing special but was clearly well worn due to the discolouring around the collar where he had pulled it on many times. Alex looked at the ticket on the inside and smiled sadly.

_For Eric Grayson,_

_Love Always my Sweetheart,_

_Dorothy Grayson._

_XXX_

Alex held out the ticket to Sherlock, not trusting herself to speak for the moment.

"His wife died," Sherlock told John.

Sherlock's voice was as cool and detached as always, unfazed by the fact that he had just stated the most traumatic and heart breaking experience that the body in front of him had probably encountered. Alex took out her mobile and typed in the name Eric Grayson in the local _Yellow Pages_ app that she had. The address immediately popped up.

"45 Northumberland Street," Alex told them, "Two miles from here."

The trio now stood in the hall of Eric Grayson's home. The house itself was grand and lush, fuelling the belief that the mystery job was very well paid. Sunlight streamed through the open blinds and the whole house had an edge of serenity about it.

"John, take the kitchen and dining room. Alex, take upstairs," Sherlock ordered as he headed towards the living room.

_I thought this was supposed to be my case,_ Alex thought as she ascended the beautiful crafted staircase. She walked out onto the glossy wooden floor of the landing and pushed the bedroom door open gently. A four poster double bed lay in the middle with a lilac throw draped over it. The colours suggested that the Eric couldn't bear to buy new sheets after Dorothy died. Alex walked along the room and ran her hand along a delicate vanity unit that stood in the corner. Around the mirror were five different pictures of who Alex presumed were Eric and Dorothy when they were younger.

Alex took the first one and unpinned it. She held it in her hand, the chapters of their life. The photo was yellow and hazy with age and showed a smiling young couple looking in their early twenties. Eric had his arm snaked around Dorothy's waist lovingly and her head was resting on his shoulder. Alex smiled softly and took the next photo.

The couple were slightly older now and were stood outside a church. Dorothy was wearing a beautiful flowing wedding dress and was leaning on her husband's chest as they smiled dotingly up at each other. The bridesmaids were stood around them with grins on their faces.

The third photo showed Eric struggling to build a cradle and a heavily pregnant Dorothy laughing at her husband, one hand on her stomach.

Alex felt tears stinging in her eyes as she picked up the next chapter. It showed Eric swinging his three year old daughter around in the air, much to the amusement of a once again pregnant Dorothy.

The fifth photo showed the two children running in the garden, the sun beating down on them. Dorothy was laid on the sun lounger with Eric handing her a lemonade.

The last photo showed a now elderly Eric and Dorothy standing in the same spot that they had done in the first photo. Apart from now, the building was just flat land, the college having been destroyed in World War Two.

Alex blew out a breath and delicately pinned the photos back onto the mirror, her heart swelling as she read Eric Grayson's life like a book on a dusty library shelf. Alex let her fingers rest on a jewellery box on the table top and lift up the lid. Inside was a small letter wrapped up with a butterfly pin. Swallowing the feeling of intruding, Alex slipped the pin off and unrolled the letter.

_To my dearest Eric,_

_If you are reading this now, I am finally at peace. Please do not feel sorry for me, this is the only option I have to stop the pain. _

_We have been lovers since college; oh those were the days, my love. I so clearly recall the late night strolls around the lake, the moon shimmering off the crystal waters. You were my knight in shining armour through the exams. Then of course I got pregnant, the best thing (save meeting you) that could have ever happened. Jennifer was such a chubby baby, just like Lottie! I wish they had got to live to see their teenage years, I am sure you would have been very busy scaring off their suitors! We managed for so long without them, our little angels. We had just managed to build ourselves back together when I got the cancer. _

_I remember our wedding day so clearly, you were so handsome. My mother cried, do you remember? Yours just sat there as cool as you like but we both know there was a tear in her eye. She is up here with me too, and your father. I am with our little Jennifer and Lottie now. We are in a place where we can forget about the drunken driver. The whole family is together and we are just waiting for you. Don't worry, my love. We will wait for you until the end of time itself._

_You were my ray of hope through the dark days, you are the only reason why I held on for so long._

_Know that I love you always Eric, my love until the end._

_Dorothy Grayson_

_XXX _

Alex felt tears slip down her cheeks as she read the note. She could imagine what Sherlock would say – 'how could someone write something so cringe-worthy to leave behind for the world'? But Alex, in that instance, felt very different from Sherlock.

Alex gently rolled up the letter and slotted the pin on it.

She sniffed. It echoed around the empty room. The empty room where the veil between past and present ran thin as glimpses of the Grayson's life fluttered by.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Xin0Lan, the-goblet-of-deduction, LaughingWith, rycbar15, Rose Tomlinson, E I Cochrane, anon787, and Lizi Rose for reviewing! <strong>

**Replies will be sent to you all now!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	27. Original Case - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the dhow. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex felt tears slip down her cheeks as she read the note and she wished she could be more like Sherlock, a machine. She didn't want to feel the pain that the man had gone through and the pain that she was going through just reading about it. Alex gently rolled up the letter and slotted the pin on it._

_She sniffed. It echoed around the empty room._

_The empty room where the veil between past and present ran thin as glimpses of the Grayson's life fluttered by._

Alex came plodding back down the stairs and assembled in the kitchen with John.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

John looked up from where he was scanning through Eric Grayson's post.

"Hello," he replied, taking notice of Alex's puffy eyes but deeming it wise not to comment.

"Found anything then?"

John shook his head.

"Nothing apart from an interesting argument about the rising council tax," he muttered sarcastically.

Alex smiled half-heartedly and was about to go and find her Uncle when something caught her eye on top of the fridge.

"What's that?" she murmured to herself as she reached up and grasped a book. It fell into her hands and fluttered open to show the weeks of the year.

"John," she called, "It is Eric's diary."

John dropped the letter in his hand and looked over her shoulder.

"It just says work," he pointed out.

Alex turned the page and written in the column: MONDAY were the words A. DEVON.

"A. Devon?" John frowned, "Well, that could mean anything…"

Alex nodded dismally in agreement, accepting that her find was nothing useful. She shut the cover and was about to put it back when she noticed something in the bottom right above the bar code: a picture of a magnifying glass in gold print below one word in fancy looped writing. MAURIS.

"John! Sherlock!" she shouted.

John clapped his hands to his ears,

"I'm stood right next to you!"

Alex gave him a look as if to say 'not right now, John'. Sherlock stuck his head around the entranceway from the hall.

"What have you found?"

"Mauris, MAU. That is what was written on the post it note," Alex unrolled the note from her pocket and held it over so that the RIS completed the word, "It is the same font and everything. It is where they work, this is obviously a freebie given out to everyone. Look at the inscription on the bottom."

Sherlock grinned and flipped the diary into his hands.

"Back to Baker Street!"

* * *

><p>Once they arrived back, Alex dived for her laptop and typed in MAURIS into the search engine. She brought up the website.<p>

"Guys, look at this. Mauris is a cryptology company. They're really successful. Looks like they've been all over the country. They seem to fix algorithms and mathematics within companies making products like phones and computers. That must be what A. Devon meant. He was going to go to Devon in the morning – a.m. – to work on something there," Alex explained.

"Wow, it says here Gregson is the co-founder," John pointed out.

"Yes, that would explain the large house," Sherlock said.

"What about the other two bodies, were they cryptologists as well?"

Alex double clicked on 'meet our staff' and scrolled down through the pictures and names of the employees.

"There," Sherlock pointed to one of the photos, "Mr Samuel Aldrich. He was the first."

Alex scrolled down a little further,

"There's the second! Mrs Bailey Dodson. We need to phone Lestrade," John said, reaching for his mobile.

"Wait," Alex's hand shot out and stopped John's.

"What?"

"Isn't a bit strange that no one has reported anyone missing? I mean, the second victim was married, why didn't her husband call the police when she didn't come home? She has been dead for two days now and probably missing for three, don't you think he would have said something?"

Sherlock nodded, he had been thinking the same thing.

"What, so… we ring them and ask why they didn't notify us about their now deceased wife's disappearance," John asked incredulously, looking between the two, "Well, I'm not having that conversation."

Sherlock turned to Alex.

"Whoa, no," she declined hastily.

"It's your case," Sherlock reasoned.

_Oh, now it is my case._

"Uh… fine," she relented and picked up John's mobile.

"Hey!" he said indignantly, "Get your own phone."

"Yours is closer," Alex muttered distractedly as she dialled the number for the Dobson household as listed in the Yellow Pages open on a separate tab.

"_Hello?"_

"Hello, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. Am I right in thinking that I am speaking to a Mr Dobson?" Alex asked, taking the character of Lestrade's wife once more.

"_Yes. Is there a problem, Detective Inspector?" _Alex heard genuine worry in his voice.

"Could I speak to your wife please, Mr Dobson?"

"_Oh, Bailey isn't here."_

"Do you know where she's gone?"

_"She went off about ooh, four days ago. Somewhere for her health, she said."_

"Do you have any idea where that might be, sir?" Alex pressed.

_"I honestly have no idea. Maybe some spa break or something; she has been under a lot of stress lately."_

"Um… do you mind me asking why?" Alex asked hesitantly, not wanting to push but realising that anything could help solve the case and potentially save another life.

_"What does this have to do with you? Has something happened to my wife?"_ the man snapped defensively.

"I'm sorry," she sent Sherlock a frightened look. "I-I just want to help."

She heard the man sigh.

_"We just lost our son. Miscarriage. Bailey blames herself."_

Alex bit her lip, feeling guilty for pushing.

"I'm sorry for your loss." _And the one you don't yet know about._

_"Is that all?"_

Alex coughed uncomfortably.

"You may want to sit down, Mr Dobbs. Have you got someone with you?"

_"My mother. I'm sat down now tell me what you need to tell me," _Mr Dobbs ordered impatiently.

Alex looked at Sherlock pleadingly. He gave her a look and nodded toward the phone. She had to take several deep breaths before she could speak, standing up and facing out of the window when she did so, not wanting John and Sherlock to see her face.

"I'm really sorry to have to tell you that a body fitting the description of your wife has been found at St Bartholomew's Hospital," Alex informed him solemnly, "We, um, think it was a murder. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

_"No… n-no. She can't be. Sh-she can't be… I can't I-I-I can't…" _Mr Dobbs stammered, clearly in shock.

"Mr Dobbs -"

_"We'll be at Scotland Yard in an hour,"_ an elderly voice said (presumably Mr Dobbs' mother) and the line went dead.

Alex put the phone down onto the table.

"That," she began shakily, "was the hardest phone call I have ever made."

"You did well," Sherlock assured her.

"I'm going to make some tea. Does anybody want one?"

John nodded.

Alex disappeared into the kitchen and slid the door across.

"You're right," Sherlock admitted to John, "She isn't ready for this."

"To be fair, you didn't think the case was going to be this complex," John replied.

Sherlock sighed and put his head in his hands.

"How about this mystery message sender then? Have you got any more?" John asked.

Sherlock took his mobile out of his pocket and showed the screen to John.

_File: Message_

_Sender: Unknown_

_Time: 03:01_

_Hello again, my brilliant little Holmes._

"And you are sure that it is talking about Alex?"

Sherlock nodded, "Positive."

Alex shuffled back into the room with two mugs in her hand and Sherlock quickly hid the text.

"There you go, John," she handed him his mug and sat down on the sofa.

"Thanks, Alex."

She smiled at him (seemingly back to normal) and sipped at her tea.

"So what do we do now then?" she asked.

John and Sherlock glanced fleetingly at each other like they had done in the taxi.

"Alex, I think it may be better if I take over now. It is getting too complicated," Sherlock told her carefully.

"But you said that I have been doing well," she said.

"You _are_ doing well but it is just becoming more and more complex."

"We have been on cases just as complex and dangerous than this one! The last one for example!"

"Yes, and you ended up in a hospital bed for two weeks," Sherlock snapped.

Alex visibly recoiled at his tone. His face softened.

"Sorry. But I won't let you get hurt like you did last time. You can come with us still, but you're not to do it on your own. It'll just be like the other cases we've been on," Sherlock told her.

Alex nodded; she knew she had been defeated.

Sherlock gave her a half-smile and turned back to the computer and bringing up the hospital CCTV. John joined him, leaving Alex to sit down on the sofa with a dejected sigh. She picked up her mobile from underneath the sofa (as usual) and jumped as it vibrated as soon as her fingertips brushed against it.

**Hello! I'm missing you. Do you want to go into town for a bit? I know it's dark but we'll stay on the high street – LB**

"Hey, Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Could I go into town with Logan please?" she asked.

Sherlock looked up at her with an obvious scowl on his face.

"No."

"But-"

"No."

"Please-"

"No."

"John, talk some sense into him," Alex pleaded.

"Go on, let her go Sherlock. She needs a break from murders," John tried.

Alex crossed her fingers.

Sherlock contemplated the idea for a while until his mask cracked,

"Fine. But you stay to the main street and don't go off alone," he warned.

"No problem, Mycroft's people will see to that," Alex laughed and give her grin as she ran down the stairs and out of the door.

**Hey, I am allowed. Where are you? – AH**

**Look behind you – LB**

Alex spun around to see Logan standing behind her. He had lost the troubled expression he had worn outside the hospital and Alex gave him a smile. He seemed to give a genuine one back.

"Hey, I've missed you."

"Hasn't it only been a couple of days?"

"Yeah, well. So where do you want to go?"

"Do you want to go to Angelo's?" she suggested.

"Sounds good."

Logan hesitantly put his arm around Alex's shoulders as they crossed the road and walked to Angelo's. They had done it so many times as friends, but it felt different now. Alex wasn't sure if it was for the better or not.

As soon as Alex opened the restaurant door, Angelo himself turned and widened his eyes in shock.

"Alex! My, how you have grown!" he greeted and kissed her on the cheek.

"Hey Angelo. How are you keeping?" she asked.

"Oh, good, good. And who is this strapping young fellow here?" Angelo asked.

"You remember Logan," Alex said with a humorous gleam in her eye.

Angelo grinned and shook his hand, "Of course. You have both grown so much!"

"Sorry we don't get here that often. Sherlock kinda keeps me busy."

"I can imagine. I have a special table next to the window, your Sherlock and his date had this table last month, now it will play love nest to the next generation."

Alex blushed heavily at the term 'love nest' but was more interested in what Angelo had just said.

"Sherlock had a date?!" she repeated in disbelief.

"Oh yes," Angelo said importantly, "John Watson was his name."

Alex burst out laughing.

"N-no Angelo, they aren't together. Just flatmates," she assured him.

"Oh… they were so cute together," he uttered sadly.

Alex saw his crestfallen face and tried not to laugh again. A few moments passed as they hovered in the doorway.

"Um, Angelo?"

"Yes! Of course, now you two go and sit over there and I'll be over in a second," he said and hurried off behind the STAFF ONLY door.

"He's a nutter," he commented as the both sat.

"Yeah," she agreed, "But he's an adorable nutter."

"Am I just a nutter?"

"Definitely."

"Good match then."

Alex laughed and gave him a mock-glare as Angelo returned with a flickering candle.

"Angelo, we don't need a candle."

"Of course you do!"

"We really don't," Logan added, but was cut off by Angelo's glare.

"You do," he insisted. "I shall prepare the dish of the day for you both free of charge," he announced and clapped his hands importantly to his staff, "I want two dishes of the day prepared as fast as possible and delivered to this table. Top quality!"

Angelo winked at the couple and pranced back into the kitchen to hurry along his staff.

"Wow, he really loves you," Logan remarked.

"Oh, Sherlock and I got him off a murder charge when I was eight," Alex shrugged off-handedly. "We ate here a _lot _afterwards."

"Of course you did," Logan muttered.

"Don't you remember? I drew a scale replica of the cell that he was in during form."

Logan's eyes clouded with thought for a moment, "Oh! The one who was house breaking!"

"Got there in the end. You're getting so much slower."

"Oi."

A comfortable silence fell over the pair as Alex shook her head at the candle, kicking herself for not realising that Angelo would make a fuss.

"Do you want to leave?" Logan asked, knowing how much Alex hated being made a fuss over. "I know this isn't really what you like."

"No, no it's fine. I think this is our meal coming over anyway."

Sure enough, two waiters bearing two dishes raised high above their heads weaved through the customer and delicately placed the silver platters down on the table in front of Logan and Alex.

"Oh, God," Alex chuckled as she saw the silver.

Another waiter followed suit with a vase full of deep red roses.

"Angelo honestly," she muttered as someone replaced their serviettes with swan shaped works of art.

"Well, getting someone off a murder charge has its perks," Logan commented.

The fuss seemed to calm down as Angelo made his way back over to the table.

"Alright, alright! Back to work, chop chop!" he ordered to his staff with another clap of his hands. He turned back to Logan and Alex, "I hope you find it satisfactory."

And with a final wink, he was off once again.

Alex shook her head in amusement and curled some tagliatelle around her fork.

"So what case are you on now?" Logan asked casually as he swallowed a mouthful of food.

"Oh, well, triple murder so far and we have no idea who's behind it. It was meant to be my case, sort of an initiation into the business but it is getting to dangerous apparently," she shrugged.

"Go on then, what are the clues."

Alex took a deep breath, "We figured out that the connection between the three is the job, so by the time I get back, all of the people who work for Mauris Cryptology will be under police protection. The first two bodies had something in their hands, the first, a lock, and the second, ink. But the third body didn't have anything. And all of them were killed at the same time every day for the past three days: at three o'clock in the morning and in the same place," she finished and took another bite of her meal.

Logan was silent for a few seconds as he processed the information given to him.

"How did the murderer get passed police then? Surely the scene would have been cordoned off after the first murder?"

"Exactly. Whoever these people are, they are bloody good."

Logan nodded.

"It's a good job that it is half term, your attendance must be about fifty percent," he laughed, obviously trying to steer the conversation onto lighter topics.

"I don't even think about it, Mycroft has it sorted," she passed off nonchalantly.

"I'm still waiting for the moment when that horrid black car is going to kidnap me," Logan shuddered.

"I'll have a word with him," Alex assured him. She put down her fork. "Listen, I've been trying to work out what's actually happening for days now, weeks even. I just want an answer. What are we, Logan?"

Logan looked at her strangely and grimaced, "Whatever you want us to be."

"Oh don't say that, I can't make a decision like that!"

"Why do we have to?"

"Have to what?"

"Make a decision. Can't we just be like this? We don't need a label."

Alex thought about it for a moment, "Well I… I suppose but…"

"Please, just drop it."

Alex frowned, "'Drop it?' This isn't really something I can just drop."

She had accidently raised her voice lightly louder than usual, making the woman at the table next to them turn her head.

"Don't make a scene. Let's just enjoy tonight, okay?" Logan said imploringly.

Alex reluctantly agreed, "Fine."

A sudden flash lit up the booth. Alex blinked rapidly and saw a grinning Angelo behind a camera.

"One for the notice board," he chuckled and scurried away again.

"For someone his size, I never see him coming," Alex wondered out loud.

"Come on, I think we better be getting back," Logan announced and held his hand out to help Alex up.

They waved goodbye to Angelo and Logan wrapped his jumper around Alex's bare shoulders as the wind hit them outside.

"Do you want to go to the shop before we head home?" he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the wailing wind.

Alex nodded and shuffled closer to him as they braved the weather down the path.

"Thank God for the British weather, eh?"

"Let's move to Spain," Logan said.

"When we're old enough, I'm all for that. Or maybe the south of France– Whoa!"

Something barrelled headlong into Alex, sending her sprawling on the ground. Logan reached down to help her up, but the man who had knocked into her got there first.

"I'm so sorry, I should have been looking where I was going," the man apologised profusely as he firmly took hold of her hand and hauled her up.

"No it's fine," she reassured him, brushing herself down.

"Watch where you are going, _mate_," Logan snarled, his face close to the stranger's.

What startled Alex the most was the way the man seemed to change as he was confronted, he turned less apologetic and more violent in a mere flash.

"You might want to keep a tighter rein on your lady friend," he spat.

Alex grabbed Logan's arm forcefully as his arm raised to strike.

"Stop," she whispered, completely shocked at Logan's behaviour.

"Yeah, _stop," _the man snarled and turned to Alex, "Very sorry Miss," he shook her hand firmly and walked away.

"Do you know him?" Alex asked, fiddling with her sleeve. "You looked like you did."

"No," Logan snapped shortly and saw that Alex was messing with her cuff, "What are you doing?"

"That idiot put something up my sleeve, probably a mouldy tissue or…" she trailed off as a black origami lotus fell from her shirt and into her palm with the words _Alessandra Holmes _on.

Her face raised to the retreating form of the stranger.

"Oh God."

Without realising what she was doing, Alex set off at a sprint and skidded as she rounded a corner, Logan close behind her. The man realised her was being pursued and but a spurt on.

"No, no, no," Alex muttered.

"How do _you_ know him?!" Logan shouted over the rain. "Alex, stop! You don't understand! Stop!"

"It doesn't matter, just find him!"

They were now on the main street and had to weave and duck in between the mass of tourists and workers.

"Logan, take the left shortcut, I'll carry on this way," she ordered without breaking gaze him

Logan tried to keep up with her but got stuck around a group of drunks stumbling out the Guinness bar by the side of the path. Alex's phone began to buzz in her pocket.

_"Alessandra Holmes, what the hell are you doing?" _the angry voice of her Uncle Mycroft came through the receiver.

"He had the lotus, the same one they had when they tried to kill me," she panted, her stamina was running out fast and the man seemed to show no signs of fatigue.

_"Alex, stop," _Mycroft ordered.

"He's getting away!" she protested.

_"Alessandra, do as you are told!"_

"NO!"

_"STOP!"_

Alex slammed down the lid of her phone and threw the damn thing into the traffic as Sherlock tried to ring her. Knowing that she would have time to regret her actions later, she didn't dwell on it and just pushed her limbs forward with even more vigour than before. He was the reason she had laid in a hospital bed for days, the reason her shoulder had a still-healing tear in it.

"OI!" she hollered at the man.

He turned and comprehended how close she was. His eyes rested on the building on his right and he slipped in. Alex followed as fast as she could, and had to clamp her hands over her head as the heavy metal music reverberated around the walls of the music hall that she had entered and thundered inside her head. _Student party, great._

Alex scanned the crowd for the man, trying to ignore the pounding bass.

Alex's eyes suddenly darted to the man changing into a hoodie to try and disguise himself. She barged passed some drunken girls and hopped down into the lower stand. She ran along the chairs but skidded on the last one, alerting the man of her presence. He immediately took flight up the concrete stairs behind him. Diving forward, Alex managed to grab hold of his shoe on his way up. He shook his leg violently and sent the girl flying back into a spaced out student.

"Hey! Whatcha doin'?" he droned, his eyes wide and unfocused.

Alex wrinkled her nose in disgust and took off after her target.

The screaming music blared at a deafening volume once again and Alex fell to her knees. He had led her directly to the speakers and she could feel her eardrums pounding. Her world was spinning as she drunkenly threw herself forward in attempt to get away.

She stumbled over to the top of the hall and gasped at the relief of the large proximity between her and the cacophonous noise. She had to find the man. He knew… wait, what did he know? Why was-? Alex began to breathe heavily as her head started to feel like it was being filled with helium. She cleared her throat, hoping to also clear her thoughts but only succeeding in clouding them further. _THE MAN!_ Her mind screamed at her.

Several people turned around and stared at her and she realised that the words had come out of her mouth and not just stayed in the locked chasm of her mind. The shriek was but a trifle louder than a whistle over the hammering bass. She had to find the man, he knew something and it was important. She couldn't remember it now but it was important damn it!

Suddenly, a hand grasped around her arms. Alex's mind seemed to jumpstart at the surge of adrenaline as she began to struggle.

"Alex! It's me!"

Alex swivelled her head to see the livid face of Sherlock above her.

"Sherl-"

"Save it!" he hissed, "Go and get in the car!"

Alex went to move when her legs suddenly felt like jelly and she buckled. Sherlock caught under her arm and literally dragged her out of the forsaken music hall and out on to the road side.

"What is wrong with you?!" he bellowed as soon as he pushed her into Mycroft's car. At the same time, Mycroft yelled, "What are you playing at?!"

Alex blinked.

"He… he was there," she panted.

"I told you to stay where you were and you just blatantly ignored me!"

"I was angry… I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"No, Alessandra. You are not sorry, or you wouldn't keep pulling reckless stunts like this," Sherlock hissed as they pulled up at Baker Street.

He took her by the scruff of her collar and marched her up into her bedroom.

"Stay here!" he ordered and slammed the door.

Alex swallowed thickly and sat on the edge of her bed. Now she had no way of contacting Logan at all after throwing her phone into an oncoming bus.

_Why the hell did I do that?_

She needed to know if he was okay, so for that she needed a phone. Hoping to God that Sherlock had put his phone in his bedroom in the room next door, Alex creaked open her bedroom door as quietly as she could, snuck downstairs and into Sherlock's room. Alex almost cried with relief when she saw the shiny blackberry on the bed. She unlocked it with ease and typed a text to Logan.

**Hope you are alright; I got busted by my Uncles. Reckon I am going to be grounded for years. I won't be able to text back, phone got ran over – AH **

Just as Alex deleted the chat history, something caught her attention. A message sent by: UNKNOWN. How ominous, how was she meant to resist? She opened the text and her heart almost stopped.

_File: Message_

_Sender: Unknown_

_Time: 03:01_

_Hello again, my brilliant little Holmes._

Alex repeated it under her breath and locked the phone. She threw it back on the bed and backed into her room to write it down before she forgot. She had no doubt that the message was for her. She was the only 'little' Holmes.

Alex threw off her clothes and pulled on her pyjamas. She was about to throw the clothes in the washing basket when something sharp protruded into her skin. She winced and pulled her jeans back to reveal the origami lotus. But now with time to fully look at it, she noticed something was different. The corners weren't tucked in properly. She had made it, she knew how the corners were. She took one of the folds and pulled it back. Underneath in neat golden pen was the number 13. She unfolded the adjacent corner to unveil the number 15 and so and so on until written down in sequence were the numbers.

13, 15, 14, 31, 18, 10, 7, 1, 6, 11

Alex frowned at them. What in the world could it mean? She threw her head back into her cushion and repeated the numbers in her head, the figures spinning and flipping in her mind's eye.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: E I Cochrane, Marina, Rose Tomlinson, Sapphire Iota, GottaLoveTen, Guest, rycbar15, Revella, Kell-Bells34, tinuviel21, and abi tandy for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies have already been sent to you.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	28. Original Case - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, all rights go to the BBC blah blah, I only own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Helloo! Hope you are all okay! So here is the next chapter where the mystery deepens. Also, remember Alex is only fourteen and so still has glimmers of childishness and doesn't have the same amount of good judgement as someone older than her would have.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She winced and pulled her jeans back to reveal the origami lotus. But something was different, the corners weren't tucked in properly and she made it, she knew how the corners were. She took one of the folds and pulled it back. Underneath in neat golden pen was the number 13. She unfolded the adjacent corner to unveil the number 15 and so and so on until written down in sequence were the numbers._

_13, 15, 14, 31, 18, 10, 7, 1, 6, 11_

_Alex frowned at them. What in the world could it mean? She threw her head back into her cushion and repeated the numbers in her head, the figures spinning and flipping in her mind's eye._

Alex's eyes snapped open. She pulled herself into a sitting position and looked around her dark bedroom, only the faint outlines of furniture visible. She leant over and flicked on the lamp on her bedside table. It sprung to life, emitting a dull glow. She didn't know why she had woken up. No one had come up to her room and she had fallen asleep with the numbers from the lotus flower tumbling around in her head.

"Why have you decided to wake me up _now_? Don't you think I need a break?" she muttered bitterly to her mind.

Casting her eyes to her digital alarm clock, Alex realised that it had just gone three o'clock. She quietly stalked to her bedroom door and pressed her ear to it. She could barely hear the conversation below-

"I can't believe they got past _again_! That's four times now," a voice that Alex recognised as John exclaimed.

"Lestrade wants us over again, apparently these two bodies have some kind of plants in their hands," Sherlock informed him.

"Two?"

"Yes, there are two bodies, Marie Wilson and Stanley Crayton both from Mauris."

"Shall I go and get Alex so we can head over there?"

"No," Sherlock said immediately, "She broke the rules. She's no longer a part of this case."

"That is a bit harsh," John commented.

"She needs to learn. This profession is extremely dangerous and we can't have her gallivanting around wherever and with whomever she feels like."

The lack of response told her that John had nodded in agreement and soon the slam of the door indicated their exit.

Alex gritted her teeth. She knew Sherlock never went through this when he started out. He would probably go wherever he wanted at whatever time with whoever he wanted to get a case solved. Well, that was what she was going to do. This was _her _case that _she _was going to solve it. Opening her bedroom door, Alex went out onto the landing and proceeded down the stairs to Mrs Hudson's flat.

"Hello, Mrs Hudson," Alex greeted politely through the already open door.

"Hello, Alex dear! What a lovely surprise! I've been up all night with my hip and what's strange is I'm not even tired! Anyway, what can I do for you?" she old lady rambled as usual.

"I was just wondering if I could borrow your phone. Mine's broken, do you mind?" Alex asked timidly.

"No problem, no problem," Mrs Hudson fumbled around in the front of her pinafore and handed Alex the landline cordless phone, "Always keep it in here you see."

Alex thanked her and dashed upstairs. She punched in Logan's number and pressed it to her ear.

_"Hello?" _Logan's sluggish voice answered.

"Logan. You need to get over here now. Tell your mum that you'll be staying over for the next few days and pack a suitcase," Alex told him.

_"What's going on, Alex?" _his voice was now fully awake and alert.

"I've been dropped from the case but someone has left me a message. I know this case is made for me Lo' and I need your help."

_"So I'm your John?"_

"Yes, you are my John."

She heard Logan chuckle slightly,

_"I'm on my way."_

Alex grinned and took the phone back down to Mrs Hudson's flat (leaving it on the cabinet when she saw that the 'I am not tired' lady was fast asleep on the sofa).

Alex ran back up to her flat and pulled out the full wall length whiteboard that was folded up behind her wardrobe. She unravelled it and propped it up against her bed. She took out her set of pins and ribbons and laid them out along the floor.

Half an hour later, a swift knock at the door showed Logan standing there with his suitcase in one hand.

"Hel-"

"Did you correct the tilted door hanger?" Alex cut him off.

"Um, yes," he replied unsurely. "We always do."

"Go back out and put it back to how it was, Sherlock will see."

Logan dumped his bags and ran back down to do as he was told.

"Done," he chirped as soon as he was back.

"Are you wearing aftershave?" Alex asked without taking her eyes off her task of colour coding the pins.

"Yeah," Logan answered bemusedly.

"Go in the shower and wash it off, Sherlock will smell it and see right through my lying."

Logan sighed and trudged into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of running water and creaking pipes filled the flat. Alex drowned out the noise and concentrated solely on her task of printing out another set of the pictures from her phone and writing out the dialogue from her voice notes that she had thankfully uploaded on to the laptop.

Ten minutes later, she was startled out of her writing by the feeling of wet hair draping across the back of her neck.

"Logan!" she laughed and shuddered at the cold.

He sat down next to her and picked up one of the photos.

"So this is the evidence?"

"Yep. There have been two bodies found today so we just need to wait for Sherlock to get back with the photos so I can duplicate them behind his back," she muttered the last few words of the sentence bitterly.

"I'm sensing problems between you two."

Alex sighed, "Just the usual, Mycroft and Sherlock treating me like I'm a four year-old made of glass. I mean, I almost had that man," Alex noted Logan stiffening at the mention of him but ignore it for now, "If Sherlock hadn't burst in and grabbed me, I would have nabbed him!"

"Yeah, but you could have been hurt," Logan reasoned.

Alex took her head from his shoulder and stood up angrily.

"There it is again! I have grown up around burglars, murderers, psychopaths and freaky experiments, I can look after myself! There was one time that I got hurt and I was prepared for it. I couldn't let Sarah die so I took it myself; it wasn't because I wasn't strong enough to fight Dao! I knew what I was doing; it was all part of the plan!" Alex burst out. "Well, maybe not, but it worked. Sarah and I are alive and I know that man who gave me that lotus was part of the reason I got hurt."

Logan tilted his head at her with yet another unreadable look on his face.

"It's just… not fair."

"I know. Now come on, we have a mystery to solve," Logan nudged.

"You sound like you should be on an episode of Scooby Doo," she laughed.

"You _look _like you should be on an episode of Scooby Doo."

"Am I Scooby? Nah, I'll be Daphne; always wanted to be ginger."

"Does that make me Fred?"

"Yup."

"I don't have blonde hair."

"I can _make _you have blonde hair," Alex suggested.

"Whoa no! You and hair dye do not mix, remember in Year 4?"

"Oh come on, we were eight!" Alex defended.

"I looked like Lady Gaga vomited on me," Logan deadpanned.

Alex stifled a laugh. The conversation was suddenly cut short as the front door slammed and the instantly recognisable voices of Sherlock and John floated up the staircase.

"Wardrobe, now," Alex whispered as she grabbed Logan's suitcase and threw it in after him.

She shut the wardrobe door firmly and dived to her bedside table to pick up her glass of water. She took a deep breath before pouring it over her hair.

"What are you doing?" she heard Logan hiss.

"You went in the shower, Sherlock will notice. I need to make it look like it was me that went in."

Turning off the lamp, she hid the whiteboard, pins, ribbons and notes under the bed and dived under the covers, pretending to be asleep (a feat that she had been practising for almost fifteen years). The door opened just a crack and Sherlock's head poked through. He came into the room and stood over her, judging if she was really sleeping. Alex concentrated on keeping her eyelashes from fluttering and regulating her breaths exactly.

The hardest test was when Sherlock held a hand directly in front of her face. Alex sensed the movement and had to gather all of her self-restraint not to open her eyes. She just say managed it and Sherlock nodded to himself, deeming his niece thoroughly asleep, then left.

As soon as the door was shut again, Alex threw back the covers but still remained motionless. She couldn't help but feel extremely guilty. But then she thought of Samuel Aldrich. And Bailey Dobson. And Marie Wilson. And Stanley Crayton. And dear old Eric Grayson. Her mind was set. It didn't matter what problems were going on in her life._ She_ didn't matter. What mattered was concentrating on getting the man that had murdered five people put behind bars for the rest of their life.

Light on her feet, Alex tiptoed out of bed and gently prised the wardrobe door open to reveal Logan hunched over his suitcase on the bottom.

"Get up, we need Sherlock's phone," she whispered.

"What do you want me to do? We can't both go down there, it will just double our chances of being caught. And Sherlock will have no aversion to impaling me with his harpoon."

"I need you to silently get the whiteboard out and spread all of the pictures and notes along the floor while I am downstairs."

She made sure to shut the bedroom door completely behind her so as not to accidently reveal Logan. Holding her breath, Alex slinked down the stairs, taking care to avoid the dodgy floorboard on the fourth step from the top. She reached the bottom and strained her ears for any signs of movement.

"Sherlock, do you have _any _idea what this could mean? Any at all?" John asked, his voice muffled from his hand's position over his face.

"Someone is trying to be very clever but they are impatient. They got sick of waiting to kill one every night so killed two. I haven't yet cracked the message with the items," Sherlock said, obviously not wanting to say 'I don't know'.

"What I want to know is how the murderer managed to get at Marie Wilson and Stanley Crayton. They were put under Scotland Yard's protection scheme after we figure that it was the job connecting the victims," John wondered.

There was a moment silence.

"We need to talk to Mr Dobbs," Sherlock declared.

"Mr Dobbs?" John frowned.

"Yes, John. Mr Dobbs! The second victim's husband, she's at Scotland Yard now!" Sherlock explained impatiently as he swung on his coat.

Alex heard the hurried footsteps nearing the door and she sunk back into the shadows cast by the staircase. She pressed herself as close as she could to the outside of the bannister and between the wall. She held her breath as the door rocked open and Sherlock and John exited. As soon as the pair had left Baker Street, Alex whistled for Logan to come down.

"I have just had a thought," he said as he followed her into the living room, "Won't Mycroft have seen me come here the CCTV?"

"Oh don't worry, Frankie Stetson takes the three 'til five watch and he will have fallen sleep at quarter past three," Alex brushed off as she rummaged through the printed out photos of the most recent murders. "Bingo. Lo' can you photocopy these please."

He took the photos and soon the two were sat up in Alex's bedroom with photos, notes, ribbons, pins and chocolate scattered around them. Alex picked up a photo of Samuel Aldrich and pinned it to the whiteboard.

"Samuel Aldrich, the first victim. Stab wounds," she picked up a zoomed in picture of his hand, "With a lock."

Logan picked up Bailey Dobson's.

"Bailey Dobson, the second victim. Stab wounds the same as the first and found with ink."

Alex swallowed thickly as she pinned Eric Grayson's photo on.

"Eric Grayson, the third victim. Stab wounds again but this time with nothing in his hand."

The fourth and fifth were pinned up.

"Marie Wilson and Stanley Crayton. Stab wounds identical to the others but these are the only ones that were killed together. It looks like heather in Marie's hand and ivy in Stanley's hand."

Alex sat back and considered the cases for a moment before picking up the post it notes and the ribbon. On one post it note, she wrote FEMALE and on the other was MALE. The ribbons then connected the victims to the appropriate category. The connections between all of them were obviously working at Mauris, all being found dead at three o'clock in the morning and having something in their hand (apart from Eric). Logan then wrote the word MURDERER on a note and pinned it right at the very top.

"What do we know about the murderer then?" Logan demanded.

"He's clever, crafty and has to be good with gadgets to take down those security cameras," Alex recited, those thoughts having been swirling around her mind while she 'slept'.

Logan wrote all of the words down beneath the note.

"Anything else?"

Alex remembered what Sherlock had told John, and took the pen.

IMPATIENT

"So what do we do now?" Logan asked.

Alex licked her lips, "We have a stakeout."

Logan looked at her blankly,

"Excuse me?"

She turned to him and spoke intensely, unknowingly imitating Sherlock, "All of these people were murdered at the exact same place at the exact same time. The murderer is just begging for us to wait there like the police and watch out for his next move. They are like poodles jumping for dog biscuits! If we go there disguised as patients, we slip into the storage cupboard and stay quiet; no one will know that we are there. I have the hospitals CCTV on my laptop so I can disable any camera we need to and if no one knows we are there, neither will the murderer. He won't realise that he is being watched from another angle so he won't be able to pull the wool over our eyes."

Logan contemplated their master plan for a moment, his face unreadable. Alex bit her lip. If he disagreed with her here, there was no hope. That was the only plan she had lined up.

Logan's face broke it stoic expression and cracked into a grin.

"That sounds awesome."

"Phew, you had me worried there," she laughed in relief, "The only problem is of course getting passed Sherlock and John. They are both acting really weird and I am sure Sherlock keeps checking on me while I'm sleeping. I think it has something to do with the message."

Logan cleared his throat uncomfortably,

"So, do you know who sent the message yet?" he asked nonchalantly.

Alex sighed and rubbed a hand down her face, "I'm not positive and I have no proof yet, but I'm sure that it's been sent by, or has something to do with Moriarty, whoever that is. The name has cropped up plenty of times over the past few weeks."

Logan knuckles cracked, causing Alex to cringe.

"What's up with you?" she asked, he was acting really weird.

"Nothing… I just don't like the sound of the guy."

"Join the club. Now, what are we going to do about the whole 'not letting Sherlock or John notice I am missing' situation?"

Logan suddenly grinned.

"Well, I have one idea."

* * *

><p>Later that day, Alex was sat in her bedroom, the flat completely deserted apart from her. John and Sherlock still had not come back from the police station, and Logan had just winked, gave her a smirk and disappeared out of the door. But not without a dramatic, "I'll be back," in a deep, gruff voice because he was well… Logan.<p>

The teen sighed and let her fingertips brush over the photos of the stab wounds on all of the bodies. Something, she didn't know what, was wrong. And not knowing was driving her up the wall.

A sudden, swift rap at her bedroom door alerted her of Logan's arrival back. John's knocks were gentle and slower, Logan's were quick and rough and Sherlock, well Sherlock just didn't knock at all.

"Come in," she called distractedly, her eyes still glued to the photos.

She heard the door open but Logan didn't approach. Alex turned her head curiously,

"Are you coming in-?" she looked at the door, only to be faced with the ugliest mannequin that you have ever seen with a thick, tangled mop of greasy black hair.

"ARGH!" Alex cried out in surprise and held a hand to her heart, "Logan!"

Logan's head popped over the mannequin's shoulder.

"Hey Alex! It is you!" he pointed to it.

"You think… that I look like that?" Alex asked in a deadly calm.

"Yeah," Logan replied cheerfully, "Isn't it great."

He walked around the front of the doll to admire it.

"You think that I look like a scruffy, naked doll that you have just hauled out of the skip around the back of ASDA?"

Logan seemed to realise his mistake and backtracked.

"No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, I mean you have the same hair."

Alex's eye brows shot up in outrage as she pointed towards the crow's nest hair.

"No! I mean you have the same curly hair!"

Alex glared daggers at him, the only reason the damn hair was curly was because it had barbed wire coiled in it!

"Okay, you have the same _colour _hair."

Logan himself even realised what he had just said as he looked up at the weather faded black that was turning slightly grey.

"You are… um… both female!" he cried triumphantly.

"Yeah, I noticed that funnily enough due to the fact that she is completely stark naked! Why the hell did you feel the need to haul a naked mannequin over your shoulder and drag it through the streets? Didn't you get weird looks?"

"The football match was on last night, there were a lot more things worse than a naked woman going on in that square," Logan said dryly, "And anyway, she's your body double. I noticed her on the way over here."

"She is my- _it _is my what?"

"For when Sherlock comes up to check on you. Just pull the covers up to her forehead and she could pass as you."

Alex sighed, it was the only plan they had.

"She is going to have to have to work done, then."

* * *

><p>Two hours later, dusk was beginning to fall and stood in the middle of Alessandra Holmes' bedroom were two Alex's and Logan. The mannequin had had its greying hair spray painted black, courtesy of Raz; had its white complexion doused in foundation; and eyes painted so they looked shut.<p>

"Now all there is left to do is the hair," Alex grinned.

She looked at the jumble… and stopped grinning. After twenty minutes of untangling the bush, Alex took out some curling tongs from her top drawer.

"Why do _you _need curling tongs?" Logan asked incredulously.

"Oh, they were just a Christmas present from the extended family. I have never met them so they don't know what I look like," Alex shrugged as she curled a lock of 'Alex's' hair.

"But surely they have seen pictures of you?"

"Yeah, Sherlock sent them one last year."

"So they know you have curly hair."

"Well, no. They asked Sherlock for a picture of me and I gave him one of a young Selena Gomez."

"And he sent it without noticing?"

"To be fair, he was on a rather difficult case at the time."

Another ten minutes later, Alex, Alex and Logan were ready.

"We need to call her something else, I'm getting mixed up between you both," Logan said, "What about, Awesome Alex? Or Amazing Alex?"

"Oh and what am I, average Alex?" Alex asked sarcastically.

Logan's eyes widened as he thought of a really good one.

"You're Average Alex, and she's Alabama Alex because it says shipped from USA on her shoulder."

Alex shook her head fondly and patted the pyjama clad version of herself.

"Nice to meet you, Alabama Alex."

Average Alex and Logan laid Alabama Alex down in bed and pulled the covers up to her hairline. The resemblance was actually very good, the black spray paint and curling had worked a treat.

"And now for the final touch," Logan announced and pulled a package from the inside of his jacket, "I got it from the joke shop on the way here."

He unwrapped a sort of red balloon and put it underneath the covers around Alabama Alex's chest. Average Alex raised her eyebrow but soon grinned as the balloon slowly let the air out and sucked it back in again, causing the duvet to rise and fall with it. It looked exactly like the mannequin was breathing.

"That is so creepy."

"Do you think Sherlock will fall for it?"

"I think so."

And it was soon time to put it to the test as the two crafty teenagers stealthily prowled passed Mrs Hudson's door and into the night.

**Author's Note: So, two more murders, one found with heather and the other with ivy... hmmm how mysterious...**

**HUGE thank you to: E.I Cochrane, Marina, Rose Tomlinson, Sapphire lota, GottaLoveTen, rycbar15, Revella, Kell-Bells34, tinueviel21, abi tandy,**

**So, the next chapter should be up by tomorrow. I am genuinely surprised at how much people like Logan! Well, Logan and Alex as a couple. I thought that he should 'play John' in this case.**

**Please review!**

**Abby**

**X**


	29. Original Case - Part 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex J**

**Author's Note: Hello everybody! Urgh, back to school tomorrow so updates might have to be every other night depending on how evil my teachers decide to be.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_He unwrapped a sort of red balloon and put it underneath the covers around Alabama Alex's chest. Average Alex raised her eyebrow but soon grinned as the balloon slowly let the air out and sucked it back in again, causing the duvet to rise and fall with it. It looked exactly like the mannequin was breathing._

_"That is so creepy," Alex chuckled and shuffled closer to Logan._

_"Do you think Sherlock will fall for it?"_

_"I think so."_

_And it was soon time to put it to the test as the two crafty teenagers stealthily prowled passed Mrs Hudson's door and into the night._

Sherlock burst into the flat, rage written across his face. He slammed open the door with such force that John swore shook 221B Baker Street to its foundations. They had just received another message. Another bloody message. Sherlock's mobile had pinged in the middle of questioning Mr Dobbs about his wife (for the ninth time that day), causing the whole room to glare at the consulting detective. He had excused himself and checked his messages to find this-

_File: Messages_

_Sender: Unknown_

_Time: 22:00_

_Have you not figured it out yet? Tsk-Tsk Alessandra Holmes Tsk-Tsk._

Five hours later, Sherlock threw the phone down on the sofa in Baker Street.

"Sherlock, calm down-" John tried.

"No John! Whoever this is, they know Alex's full name and they know her involvement in this case. That definitely qualifies them as dangerous. That's why she's upstairs instead of at Scotland Yard. I plan to keep her there. But they'll get impatient. Or _she _will," he rubbed a hand over his face. "It's going to happen again. She shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous."

"Look, she might only be young but she's got a good head on her shoulders. Just talk to her, tell her to stay inside, we'll find whoever's doing this, and no one gets hurt," John consoled as he picked a warmer jumper. "Except the people who have already been hurt."

Sherlock let out a breath, "I'm not telling her about the messages. She'll worry and that's the last thing I need because then she'll want to help and she'll be scared, and that's when she makes mistakes. Why did I think it was a good idea to let her take this one alone?"

John shrugged, "Look mate, she's your niece and it's up to you what to do, but she's pretty pissed off at the way you and Mycroft are treating her. You know she's older than her actual age. I'd just talk to her without either of you shouting and hug it out."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the term, "I can assure you, Holmeses don't 'hug it out'. How come you seem to know so much about parenting?"

"I don't, I just know a lot about teenage girls. Harry started acting like a teenager at age eight and still hasn't stopped," he joked, but with a sad smile. "Just talk to her."

"And if she's asleep by now?"

"Wake her up. It's important."

Sherlock sat still for a moment in thought before getting to his feet and proceeding to his niece's room. When he opened the door, he saw she was asleep, the duvet pulled over her head.

"Alex, wake up," he said curtly, shaking her shoulder.

She didn't even mutter some nonsense about leaving her alone or swatting with her hand, she just lay motionless.

"Alex?"

That's when he knew.

"You better hope I'm wrong," he muttered, pulling back the duvet. He scowled. "Alessandra Holmes, you are _dead. _John!_"_

A moment later, his footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs.

"Yes, yes I'm coming. Honestly-" John cut himself off as he stumbled into the room and surveyed the scene. He looked from his flatmate to the bed with the painted mannequin and his face fell.

"Oh no."

Sherlock jumped to his feet swiftly and picked up John's phone from inside his pocket. For once, John didn't resist.

"Mycroft, check CCTV around Baker Street… because I'm telling you to… it doesn't matter… no, I… yes, it's to do with… oh, I don't need your help – fine! Alex is... temporarily missing... why else, to prove a point! I... I don't..."

"What?" John mouthed at him.

"Just look, damn it!" Sherlock slammed down the phone and threw it back to John, running his hands through his hair wildly. "I am going to _murder _that child. That is if she hasn't already been murdered."

Sherlock looked to the clock.

"We need to get to St Bart's," he said suddenly. "It's quarter to three, if Alex wants to find the murder, she'll be there to catch them in the act."

* * *

><p>Alex and been dozing silently on Logan's shoulder in the hospital store cupboard for a good two hours and only awoke because of Logan's prodding.<p>

"What?" she mumbled.

Logan held a finger to her lips and turned his watch for her to see. They had five minutes. He helped her to her feet and gently opened the cupboard door a tiny amount.

"Shut down whatever camera that one is," Alex said, pointing to the one directly opposite the cupboard.

Logan sat down and opened up the hospital security that Alex had obtained.

"Umm, sixteen. I think. Yeah, it's that one," he pressed a button and filled the camera with static.

He gave Alex a nod and she sprinted to the column opposite, a blind spot for camera sixteen and what must be seventeen.

"Take out the next one," she mouthed, fighting off a yawn.

She ran to the next pillar and crouched down. At the end of the corridor were five police officers guarding the room, with more inside the ward. They were sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, each looking as tired as the next.

"Bring back those ones."

Logan did as he was told and gave Alex a smile. She crossed her fingers and grinned back. Adrenaline was pumping through her body like a drug and her palms were sweaty. Oh how she loved these cases. But that feeling only lasted while in the spotlight. Once the action quelled, that was when Alex got less excited and more terrified. The calm before the storm.

Alex noticed that Logan signalling to his watch to her. She looked down at her own and felt a surge of panic and excitement. But not as much as she usually did. Perhaps it was because she was so _tired._

2:59

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Suddenly, the light was dragged from the room as the corridor was plunged into darkness. Alex blinked at the sudden absence of sight and gripped the wall tightly, as if she was afraid that she would be swept up by the dark if she let go. A scuffle was heard behind her and Alex held her breath as she sensed a hand moving towards her head. The hand paused, as if testing to see if there was someone there and moved passed, clearly assuming that the column that housed Alex was empty.

Just as she thought she had gotten away with it, an arm brushed against hers and she was pushed roughly to the wall. She let out a soft gasp before a hand smothered her mouth, causing her to writhe and wriggle.

"Shh," the voice hissed shakily.

Alex stopped struggling, her heart pounding in her chest, still not daring to breathe. The tone made her frown. They sounded afraid. She flinched as something sharp was pressed into her palm. The person threw Alex unceremoniously on the sterile hospital floor and dragged something over her legs. The teen shambled to her feet and blindly reached out to find the cupboard that Logan was sat in. Her hand brushed against the door and she was suddenly pulled in and swallowed by the cupboard.

"Are you alright?" Logan asked, shutting the door behind her, his movement lumbering with fatigue.

"They're here," she breathed, putting a hand to her head.

She pressed her ear to the door anxiously, her stomach churning. The darkness was impermeable, not even the faintest glow emitting from the street lamps outside. Alex's hand clenched and she realised that she still had the object that the murderer had given her.

"Logan, get out your phone," she whispered.

Logan pulled it out and (seeing Alex's plan) clicked on the flashlight app. The small ray was just enough to light up the cupboard slightly and Alex angled the beam to her hand. Just as she had expected, another black lotus lay there. She unfolded the corners to reveal another sequence.

27, 2, 7, 30, 32, 13, 4, 15, 6, 44, 33

"What the hell?" Alex growled in frustration and stuffed it back in her pocket. She would worry about that later.

She shone the beam through the crack in the cupboard. All she could see was the closed hospital room door. Making up her mind, Alex squeezed through the gap. She felt Logan grab her arm.

"What are you doing?" he hissed and attempted to yank her back.

"Logan, I have to."

He pulled her closer,

"No way, there is a murderer just in that room, and you want to just waltz in?" he demanded incredulously.

"There's no…" Alex trailed off; she could smell something… like chemicals.

She swayed dangerously on her feet and Logan pulled her back inside. He sat her down and shined the torch in her unfocused eye.

"Alex? Can you hear me?" he murmured urgently.

She shook her head as the dense feeling began to clear.

"Can you… can you smell it?" she rasped.

"Yeah, it isn't so bad in here though. I thought it was just cleaning products or something."

"It smells like… oh what could it be, what could it be…" she closed her eyes, trying to recall every chemistry lesson Sherlock had ever given her. "The smell, the effect, the environment, the hospital… sevoflurane," Alex realised.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Sherlock's used it before, stunk the flat out. It's just used in operations sometimes to put people or animals to sleep- oh," she breathed, "of course."

"What?"

"Where are the police Logan? The lights have just gone out and a murderer is here right now, where are the police? The whole floor was crawling with them, so why can't we hear mass panic?"

"I- I don't know," Logan faltered.

Alex shined the mobile through the crack once more, Logan looking over her shoulder. The stream of light worked its way up the corridor floor. There was no movement, the police still sat up in the same positions but with their eyes closed.

"It's the sevoflurane. The murderer has been feeding it through the vents gradually, that is why we fell asleep on each other. The officers must have just passed it off on working the long hours on the case. The murderer has planned all of this to the last detail. Start pumping it through in small doses from nine o'clock, six hours later, they would have inhaled enough to fall unconscious: just in time for three o'clock. That is why the murders happen at precisely that time! After that, the sevoflurane supply will stop and they'll gradually wake up. The officers don't even know they're asleep, it would just be like blinking. Lestrade said something about being understaffed the other day, I bet these have just come off a normal shift, no wonder they're tired. And ones that do check the time and realise they've been asleep will probably keep quiet, thinking no one else did and they could lose their jobs if they owned up to doing it."

"But how come we aren't unconscious?" Logan questioned.

Alex contemplated the situation before she had the 'light bulb moment'.

"The door, tap it," Logan did as he was told, "It isn't hollow, it is solid all the way through. The gas is being fed through the corridor but we aren't in the corridor, we are sealed off. All we're getting is the amount coming under the door, so we've been given a smaller dose, meaning we're only a bit tired. As soon as I stepped out there, I felt like I was going to faint."

Logan pulled off his jumper and Alex her jacket, stuffing them in the gap beneath the door.

"What do we do now?" Logan asked, his eyes wide with the rush.

Alex swallowed hard.

"I need to go out there again."

"No," Logan immediately declined.

"I'll hold my breath and cover my mouth. I need to get into that room. The whole reason that we're here is to catch the murderer and bring justice to the lives that they have taken and I am not just going to sit in a cupboard. Eric Greyson was alive when they found him. What if whoever's in there now is too?"

Logan glared at her but let go of her sleeve.

"You don't have to do this. This isn't your job," he warned.

"I'll be fine," she promised and gave him a nervous smile before taking a deep, long breath and slipping out of the door.

She carefully felt along the wall of the corridor and paused when she felt the open doorway of the ward. She dared not even to breathe when she heard the scuffling of the murderer's feet as they no doubt repositioned the next poor victim. They grunted with effort and Alex took a step closer- big mistake.

Her foot caught on one of the metal bedframes, causing an almighty clang to resonate around the pitch black room. Alex practically felt the eyes of the killer burn a hole into her face. She froze stock still and resisted the urge to bolt. Running in that kind of darkness would only get her a broken foot. Alex's bottom lip trembled as she felt a hand grasp around her neck. There was no use in struggling. If the murderer was as clever as Alex believed, she was dead. Just as she braced herself for the inevitable snap of her vertebrae, all she felt was a firm hand wrap around the side of her face. It rested there for a moment before throwing Alex to the floor roughly. Alex's head hit the floor with a dull thud, causing her to suck in a breath, temporarily forgetting about the sevoflurane in the air.

Her brain suddenly seemed to slow down and her limbs became heavy. She was barely aware of the sound of the extractor kicking into life, slurping up the chemicals from the air. The lights flickered on and Alex blinked at the sudden change. With what little energy she had left, she scrambled to the windows and opened them as far as the safety catch would allow and sucked in a deep breath of air from the outside.

She felt a hand on her back.

"You alright?" Logan asked.

"Where are they?" she asked groggily, "The murderer, they got away. There's nothing I could do."

Alex pulled herself into a standing position and allowed her eyes to trail to the next victim. Correction- victims.

A woman and man lay with their bloodied hands entwined, their skin punctured in the same way as the previous bodies. Alex gripped onto Logan's arm as she saw the objects in their hands. The man held a sharpened kitchen knife and the woman held a blood red carnival mask with intricate golden frills around the edge. They both looked in their mid-thirties and Alex recognised them from the Mauris staff list as Mr and Mrs Coville.

"They died together," Alex commented softly, then turned to Logan. "You've got to go. The officers will wake up soon Sherlock will be here. You need to be gone."

He nodded, looking out the window, "He's here now. He must have realised you'd be here. We can both go now."

Alex shook her head, "No, I… I'll stay. Go on, run. Avoid the main entrance, go out the out-patients section and they won't see you."

"Okay," he looked at her. "You sure you're okay?"

"Positive. Go."

He gave her a final smile before leaving the ward, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Around her, the officers sat in the chairs in the corner of the ward were beginning to wake up.

"Miss Holmes?" one asked, completely awake. "When did you get here?"

"A while ago," Alex replied distractedly, tilting her head at the bodies.

He looked past her and his eyes widened as he got to his feet, "What? I was literally just looking… they weren't… what?!"

"You've been drugged," Alex said. "Is this the first time anyone's had watch actually inside the ward?"

"Yes, we've mostly just been near the door but… what's that under the bed?"

Alex followed his fixed stare and frowned when she saw what he was looking at.

A dusty, cobweb covered box poked out from underneath the hospital bed. Alex crouched down and pulled it out, using her sleeves to not leave any fingerprints and contaminate the evidence. To her surprise, the box was that of _Scrabble_. She lifted up the lid and on the playing board were two tiles. ME.

"They left a message," she looked up at the rookie officer, who looked back at her just as cluelessly.

"ALEX!?" the distinctive voice of Sherlock bellowed through the corridors.

"Oh, man," she mumbled, standing up and brushing off her clothes.

"You not meant to be here?" the rookie – James Hartley, his nametag said – asked.

"Depends on who you direct that question to. Detective Inspector Lestrade would probably be okay with it because I've helped but if you ask my uncle…" Alex trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence.

Alex braced herself for the onslaught that was bound to occur as the hurried footsteps of, one, two, _three_ sets of footsteps. _Oh, Uncle Mycroft as well._ Alex winced_. Excellent._

The unmistakeable curly hair of her Uncle Sherlock was the first thing she saw from the ward door. She found she couldn't even look at him, knowing that she was definitely, _definitely _in the wrong. She was beginning to see how ridiculous she had been.

Sherlock's face was thunderous, "You… I cannot believe you. You've done some stupid things Alex, but this is a whole _level _of stupid!"

Alex kept her eyes on the floor while James Hartley skirted past the three men in the doorway to call Lestrade.

"Sorry," she said, hurrying before Sherlock or Mycroft could interrupt. "No, I am. I've been crazy these past few days."

Sherlock scoffed as he walked over to inspect the new bodies, muttering, "Little bit of an understatement."

John joined him at his side, not meeting Alex's eye either. Instead, she found Mycroft's. Which was never a good thing. He was always the stricter one.

"I don't like getting calls at three o'clock in the morning telling me my niece fancies herself as some sort of vigilante going off and fighting crime in the middle of the night," Mycroft said in that tone that Alex hated the most. It was his 'I'm not your friend, I'm the person who has to keep you alive, tone'.

"I was hardly–"

His glare intensified, daring her to go on. She didn't.

"It was sevoflurane," Alex said quietly to Sherlock, then relaying what she had explained to Logan. "That's why no-one saw anything."

He looked up at her from where he was crouched beside Mrs Coville, ignoring her information and saying, "You'll be staying at Mycroft's until this is finished. I'm deliberating whether or not to let you on cases again after this. You obviously aren't mature enough to cope."

"No, I am!" Alex argued desperately. "Please don't, I won't do anything like this again. Please."

He ignored her and Mycroft cleared his throat. She hung her head in embarrassment, shuffling to stand beside her uncle.

"I honestly am sorry, Sherlock," she said.

Mycroft motioned for her to leave with him. She did so with a dejected sigh.

* * *

><p>When they got to Mycroft's home, her uncle gave her another fifteen-minute harangue, after which Alex went to bed wordlessly. She felt so guilty and ashamed. How she had ever thought going out was a good idea she didn't understand. Nothing her uncles could lecture her with could compare to how much she was berating herself as she pulled on a pair of pyjamas and climbed into bed.<p>

After an hour of lying awake, she finally gave into the temptation of sleep. But her sleep was anything but peaceful.

* * *

><p><strong>So, that was the end of the murders. Now they have to find the murder<strong>**_er._**

**HUGE thank you to:** **rycbar15,** **E.I Cochrane, tinuviel, loveinfinity,** **GottaLoveTen, Rose Tomlinson, LaughingWith, and Xin0Lan for reviewing! Replies shall be sent to you now.**

**Please Review**

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	30. Interlude - Flashback

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock at all...**

**Author's Note: Just a little filler chapter because I feel like a terrible human being for not updating tonight. I wrote this a while ago because I knew my teachers would thrust work in my face.**

**Enjoy:**

Mycroft Holmes sat with his feet propped up on his leather stool by the fireside in his dimly lit dining room. Night had fallen outside and autumn rain splattered miserably upon the stained glass windows, each drop hammering with the same depressing monotony of a leaking tap. Mycroft brought the glass of brandy to his lips once more and relished in the pleasurable burning sensation as it slid down his throat. He had been pondering many things while sat in this very seat. Mostly national security, his niece, Moriarty, his niece, the possible assassination of the Royal Family, his niece, World War Three, his niece, the nuclear warheads buried in the Karakoram Mountain range, did he mention his niece?

A clearing of someone's throat startled Mycroft from his silent thoughts. He looked up into the warm eyes of Anthea.

"Shouldn't you be at home?"

"Nothing wrong with an early morning," she smiled softly, "I found this and thought you may like to have a flick through it."

She handed him a leather bound album.

"I must be getting back to work, sir," she waved and left as silently as she came.

Mycroft watched her go and looked down at the album in his lap. He flipped open the delicate cover and rolled his eyes when he saw a picture of a two year-old Alex clinging onto a doorframe, while Sherlock tried to pull her down. Everything was a lot simpler with her back then.

"Is she okay?"

"Alex is completely fine. She went to bed about three hours ago," Mycroft reassured his sister, "How is the case going?"/em/p

Maybelline sighed a long suffering sigh.

"Not too well. Sherlock got us kicked out of the only pub we have had time to go to because he revealed the affair that the barmaid was having with her boss."

"Surely it isn't that bad."

"In front of her husband of twenty years."

"Ah."

"Anyway, I have got to go; I can see Sherlock signalling me in the wing mirror. See you, Mycroft."

Mycroft put the phone back into its cradle and leaned back in his chair. He was just beginning to allow his mind to wander when he heard a scuffle from the room next to him. Mycroft frowned and rose to his feet to open the door that read ALESSANDRA HOLMES in looped gold writing. He pushed open the brass doorknob and caught Alex wide awake at her tiny desk.

"What are you doing up?" he asked from the doorway.

Alex jumped and swivelled in her seat to face the source of the voice.

"Uncle Mycroft!" she exclaimed, holding a hand to her heart.

Mycroft walked over to her.

"You shouldn't be up at this time. Most two year olds are on their second dream by now."

"I'm almost three now, though," Alex countered with a pout.

"But you are tired aren't you?" Mycroft asked. "You know how I know that?"

"Deductions," Alex mumbled wearily.

"And how do you know when someone is tired?"

"Their-their eyes go all red, and-and you get… you get big black things under them and then they yawn."

"And that's what I can see in you, isn't it?"

Alex reluctantly nodded and pulled her hair off her face to show Mycroft the black bags under her sleepy eyes.

"Then go to bed."

"No!" she began to protest but huffed when Mycroft crossed his arms. "Fine."

She climbed back into bed with an exaggerated sigh and pulled the covers over her head. Satisfied that she wasn't going to wake up sleep-deprived and irritable in the morning, he turned to leave, only to stop when he heard a small sniffle.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he perched himself back onto the edge of the bed.

"I miss Mum and Uncle Sherlock," she sniffed as her eyes filled with tears.

"They'll be back soon. They are in just in France, it isn't that far away at all."

Alex wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

"So, could we go and see them before I go to sleep then? Just so I can say goodnight and show Uncle Sherlock my drawing," she asked hopefully.

"It isn't quite that close. Why don't you show me your drawing?" he suggested.

Alex looked forlornly down at the quilt at the negative answer but perked up slightly at the mention of her picture. She took Mycroft's hand and pulled him over to her desk where she pulled out an A4 sheet of paper.

"This is you, Uncle Sherlock, Mum and me," she pointed to four blobs (one with an umbrella, one with a billowing scarf, one small one and one with long black hair), "We're all stood on the cliff in Whitby where we went for my birthday."

"Very good, I can see the Abbey," Mycroft praised, though it really was rather terrible given her age.

"There's no one called Abbie in my picture," Alex frowned.

"No, the Abbey is the old monastery were the monks used to live. You've drawn it behind the church," Mycroft explained patiently.

There was a moment of silence as Alex regarded her picture carefully.

"There are no monkeys."

"No, it is a monastery, Alex," Mycroft smiled.

"Monstary… is that were the monsters live?"

"Mon-as-trey. Where the monks used to live. They were firm religious believers like the nuns in that strange film you were watching last week," Mycroft elaborated.

"The one where she falls backwards into a fountain?"

"Yes."

"Ohhhhhh," Alex dragged out the word.

Mycroft bit back a laugh and pointed to a large blocked out scribble.

"What was meant to be here?" he asked curiously.

Alex's face darkened.

"It was meant to be something, but it was too scary so I scwibbled it out."

"What was it meant to be, Alex?" Mycroft enquired, genuinely curious as to what could make his niece (the girl who liked to hang out of the fifth floor window when she was bored) scared.

Alex took a shuddering breath.

"The East Wind," she muttered.

Mycroft's face suddenly filled with recognition. The only thing that ever seemed to scare the girl was the threat of the East Wind coming to get her. They had only ever used the threat once when she wouldn't get down from the maple tree in the back garden, but ever since then, all you had to do was mention those two words and she would bolt for her life.

Mycroft sighed, "The East Wind is just a story, it isn't real. It was a story I used to tell Sherlock and your mother when they were small to scare them."

"B-but, I heard Mum say that someone was worse than the East Wind."

"What?"

"She didn't think I was listening. What if the person gets them?" Alex's voice was becoming heavier with sleep.

"They won't. I promise you. I've managed to keep my brother and sister alive for this long and I don't intend to stop any time soon," Mycroft reassured her.

Alex gave a tiny nod as her eyelids fluttered shut and her limbs relaxed completely, "'Kay. If you managed to keep Sherlock alive, you can definitely keep me alive. He's 'infinitely naughtier' than me."

"You're right on that. Now go to sleep before I am forced to knock you unconscious."

Her last word before she fell completely asleep was a mumbled, "Mean."

**HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, Rose Tomlinson, Xin0Lan,/strong strongLoveinfinity, GottaLoveTen,/strong strongjokerharley1980,/strong and strongbookaddict209 for reviewing!**

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	31. Original Case - Part 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Yo! Hi everyone, hope you all had/are having a good day :) So this is the second to last chapter in the case (which still doesn't have a name) and I hope you enjoy it-**

**(Credit to Sapphire lota for pointing out my previous mistake of making an alkali red instead of purple at the end of this chapter, thank you!)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_When they got to Mycroft's home, her uncle gave her another fifteen-minute harangue, after which Alex went to bed wordlessly. She felt so guilty and ashamed. How she had ever thought going out was a good idea she didn't understand. Nothing her uncles could lecture her with could compare to how much she was berating herself as she pulled on a pair of pyjamas and climbed into bed._

_After an hour of lying awake, she finally gave into the temptation of sleep. But her sleep was anything but peaceful._

Alex loved her bed at her Uncle Mycroft's house. It was so spacious and roomy that she could lie, spread-eagled across the whole mattress and not have the unpleasant sensation of cold toes hanging off the edge. The mattress had a layer of memory foam over the top of it. Alex grinned sleepily to herself when she remembered the joke that Anthea used to make.

_"Memory foam is rubbish! I can't even remember what your name is and you've been sleeping on it for four years!" _

Her nine year old self had howled at that for a good hour, tears of mirth streaming down her face. Anthea was always the humorous aunty figure (who did goodness knows what on that God damn blackberry). Molly was more the kind, shy aunty (who cut up corpses for a living). The newest edition was John – the gentle one (who was an ex-army doctor, suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). Lestrade was the best mate kind of guy (who was the head of Scotland Yard). Mrs Hudson was the fluttering Grandmother (whose husband ran a marijuana factory). Mycroft was the head of the family (who just also happened to be head of the country almost). Sherlock was the overprotective one (who solved murders for a living). _What a messed up family I have…_

And she had managed to disappoint every single one of them, no doubt.

A knock on the door and a pop of a head around the corner showed a grinning Anthea.

Well, perhaps minus one.

"Ohh, I don't like that face. What have you done?" Alex groaned.

"Nothing!" she defended, "I just brought you a little present."

She wheeled in a suitcase a laid it horizontally on the floor.

"Um, that isn't mine, I already have my suitcases, you brought them over," Alex explained.

"No, no. I left this one in the car by accident."

"Look, Anthea, I know what my suitcases look like and that is not one of them."

"It is! It is!" she insisted.

Just as Alex opened her mouth to argue, Anthea gave a subtle shake of the head whilst Mycroft walked passed the door.

"What are you both doing?" he asked curiously.

"I was just dropping Alex's suitcase off, sir. Wasn't I Alex?" Anthea's eyes blinked furiously in attempt to relay the message to Alex.

"Oh, yeah. Good, I was just looking for my jumper, it must be in there," Alex lied with a smile.

Mycroft nodded and walked away. Alex turned to Anthea.

"What are you playing at?"

"Enjoy your suitcase," Anthea smirked and retreated out of the room.

She regarded the suitcase warily. She hesitantly grabbed the zip and pulled it around its track and flipped the lid open.

"LOGAN!" she cried as she backed into the bed in shock.

"Shush!" he hissed and clamped a hand to her mouth.

"Are your trying to give me a heart-attack?" she whispered.

"Anthea helped me. She said that you could probably do with some company. She says your uncles and mum did a lot worse in their time. I brought the laptop and my phone too so we can carry on with the case."

Alex's smile dropped, "I-I can't, Logan."

"Why not?"

"It was silly to running off like that. I'm not going against what Sherlock or Mycroft say again. I just wanna be…"

"Good?" Logan finished, shaking his head. "Well, that was never you."

"Maybe I want to be for once," Alex said defensively. "Then I might add a few years onto my life. I could have so easily been killed last night, or this morning, whenever."

"I didn't say we should go back to Bart's. Just work on it from here. I mean, where's safer than here? They can't have any problem with that."

Alex pondered the thought, "I suppose the reason they were mad was because I put myself in danger… But you're right, there's no danger here… Okay, but don't let Mycroft see you."

Logan just nodded coolly and lent back on one elbow. Alex picked up the laptop and opened up her file with the case notes in, adding at the bottom:

_Murderer used sevoflurane through the vents to sedate guards. They turned off all of the lights. Still unclear whether the murderer is male or female. _

_Latest bodies found with a knife, a mask and a scrabble board._

Alex paused.

"It doesn't make any sense!" she exclaimed and threw her head back onto the duvet.

"Well, let's think about this logically," Logan teased, imitating Alex.

She rolled her eyes and threw her cushion at him.

"I'm serious, though," he told her as his laughs subsided, "We need to work out what these things mean. Start with Scrabble."

"It is a game. That could signify that the murderer is playing a game with us," Alex suggested.

"Okay, so we have scrabble down," Logan grinned as he typed in game next to the word Scrabble.

"But why Scrabble?" she asked, her eyes unfocused. "I know it symbolises a game but… why not just any game? Why did it have to be Scrabble?"

Logan stopped typing and turned to her.

"Um, it's fun?" he asked hopefully.

Alex shook her head.

"Maybe they just had it with them?"

"No… what is Scrabble? How is it different to other board games?" she pondered aloud.

"It's multiplayer, quite old, a word game, needs skill -"

Alex's eyes fixed on him.

"Say that again"

Logan frowned,

"You need skill to–"

"No… a word game, you said a word game…"

Alex grasped her head and shook her hair wildly as she tried to think. She jumped up off the bed and began to pace.

"A word game, a word game, a word game, a word game, a word game, a word game, HA!" she bellowed, "That's it! That's the meaning!"

She dived to the computer.

"What are you doing?" Logan questioned incredulously.

"The objects, Logan. They weren't randomly placed there. They have a meaning. The Scrabble game represents a word game and that's exactly what this is, a word game! The first letters of each object make a word, a clue or something."

She began to hammer down on the keyboard.

Lock

Ink

?

Heather

Ivy

Knife

Mask

Logan looked over Alex's shoulder.

"Li-something- hikm."

"I don't understand," Alex muttered.

Logan patted her shoulder, "Don't worry, you're just having a bad day."

She swung around in her chair to face him.

"No, Logan! I know what this is! It can't be anything else! Maybe I just have the objects wrong… Maybe they stand for something else," she murmured.

She held the cursor over the word knife.

"What is another word for a knife?"

Logan looked baffled, completely oblivious to what was going on as he cited some synonyms.

"Cutlery, cleaver, sword, utensil-"

"Utensil!" Alex cried, "It fits- Li-something-ium. It sounds like a chemical or gas of some kind…"

"We need to find out what the third letter is," Logan said seriously.

"I know, but the photos are back at the flat and I can't remember!"

"Do what Sherlock does; go to your mind palace."

"I can't it just… I can't remember stuff like that," Alex said. "I can never find my way back."

Logan chewed his lip.

"Just try."

Alex closed her eyes and leaned back on the bed so that she was lying down. She tried to imagine the hospital in one of the rooms in her mind but it was just like a haze. She blindly walked down the corridor and vaguely saw the outline of Mr Eric Grayson. She tried to get her mind to focus but it just wobbled out of kilter again.

"Urgh, I can't do it!" Alex swung her head back into her pillows in despair.

"Close your eyes."

"Lo-"

"Shut up. This is my time to help you," he ordered shortly.

Alex raised an eyebrow at his commanding tone but obeyed nonetheless.

"You're stood in the hospital, you've just pushed the police tape back," Logan started and Alex slowly began to slip into her mind.

She felt the tips of her fingers brush against the tape as she stepped in.

"You can smell disinfectant. The walls are bear with only hand wash and posters breaking it up," Logan's voice was like a distant echo of a memory.

The scene defined infinitely. She could actually feel the disinfectant tingling her nose. She could see the drab, dull walls, only the vibrant red hand wash system peeking out from next to the door.

"You walk forward with Sherlock and John behind you and kneel next to the body of Eric Grayson."

Alex's legs seemed to move on autopilot as she was carried towards the corpse, the comfort of Sherlock and John behind her. The pool of blood was just as real as it had been then, the same shocking scarlet. Eric's bloodless face was a sharp contrast as he lay on the floor.

"What do you see?"

"I see his face. He looks so old and fragile. I wonder how someone could actually hurt him," Alex narrated as if in a trance.

"What about in his hand? Can you see anything in his hand?"

Alex pressed her face closer to Eric's left hand and saw nothing.

"I can't see anything."

"It was worth a try," Logan sighed.

"Wait!"

"What is it? What do you see?"

"On his left wrist. It's a watch…"

Alex sat up. She scrambled back to her feet and ran over to the laptop to type in watch.

"Liwium," she frowned. "I don't know anything by that name."

Logan put a hand to his face. Their plan had failed again.

"Maybe it means something else like knife meant utensil," he asked hopefully.

"Time…" Alex mumbled softly.

"What?"

"Time, that's what the watch represents. The word, the clue; it's Lithium- Lock, Ink, Time, Heather, Ivy, Utensil, Mask. Lithium."

"What, so they were all killed by Lithium?" Logan asked slowly.

"We need to get over to the morgue," she stopped, suddenly remembering. "No, I need to text Sherlock. I'll tell him and he can go."

Mycroft had given her a replacement phone the previous night with Sherlock's number in. She picked it up.

**The victims were all killed by lithium. At least I think so – AH**

He replied five minutes later.

**Well done – SH**

Alex smiled, it seemed he wasn't as annoyed with her as he had been.

**You should go to the morgue to check, just in case I'm wrong – AH**

**You go, I'm tied up with something – SH**

Alex's smile fell.

**Would that really be okay? You said you didn't want me to leave Mycroft's – AH**

**Just be careful. Don't tell Mycroft, he'll make it into an argument – SH**

Alex turned to Logan in disbelief, "He said _we _can go. Well, I can, I assume you can too. I can't believe it!"

Logan grinned, "Come on then!"

"Wait," Alex caught his arm. "You can't be seen. You came in here in a suitcase."

"So I have to go back out in a suitcase," Logan groaned and put his head in his hands.

Some manoeuvring and a stream of swear words later, Alex wheeled the heavy suitcase out of the door and quietly apologised as she forgot about the step from the porch and pulled the case down with a jerk.

"You are a danger to society," Logan's muffled voice grumbled.

"Shush, you're going to ruin all of it!" Alex scolded under her breath.

Logan thankfully stayed silent after that as she pulled the suitcase into the car outside and climbed in herself.

"Where is it that you would like me to take you, Miss Holmes?" one of the chauffeurs under Mycroft's employment asked.

"St Bartholomew's Hospital, please."

"Do you have permission from Mr Holmes?"

"Yes."

She did, just from the wrong one.

The man nodded and reversed the car out of the gates with professional flair.

"Quite a suitcase you have got there to be going to a hospital," the man noted suspiciously.

"My friend works there. Molly Hooper. It's her stuff, I'm just dropping it off and staying there a while."

The sleek car soon mounted the curb outside St Bart's and Alex climbed out, careful not to be too rough while pulling the suitcase.

"Thank you," she smiled at the driver.

"Anytime," he bobbed the tip of his cap down and pulled away.

Alex trundled the suitcase behind her as she entered the hospital and made her way over to the morgue. Once there, she checked that it was empty and allowed Logan to squeeze out of the case.

"Those things really need air holes," Logan complained as he stretched his limbs.

"They aren't really supposed to be used for transport," Alex muttered distractedly. "Where's Molly?"

Logan shrugged, looking around the empty morgue.

"Wait, what day is it?" Alex asked.

"Saturday."

Alex looked down at her watch, "Damn, she's not on shift today. Marie must be in the canteen. She wouldn't let us look at the bodies."

"So what do we do?"

Alex bit her lip, thinking, "We be quick."

Logan smiled at her and wheeled out the corpses of Samuel Aldrich, Bailey Dobson, Eric Grayson, Marie Wilson, Stanley Crayton and Mr and Mrs Coville from where they had been stored in the chilled annex.

"I was thinking," Logan said. "Why wouldn't lithium have shown up in the autopsy?"

"They haven't done one yet. Even then, they've got the cause of death, it's pretty obvious."

"Stab wounds."

"Exactly. They wouldn't need to run toxicology tests."

"And how are we going to test for lithium?" Logan asked.

"I know the basic chemistry of it," Alex replied as she took out a syringe, "I wouldn't be able to identify it under a microscope, I'm not as advanced as Sherlock yet but this will have to do."

"What exactly are you doing?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow when Alex extracted a vial of blood from Samuel Aldrich.

"The pH of blood is between 7.35 to 7.45, making it basic. Lithium on the other hand, has a pH of between 10.9 and 11.5 making it a strong alkali. If blood and lithium were to be mixed, the pH would shoot up," Alex explained as she put the blood in a beaker.

"Sorry to point out a slight flaw, they wouldn't have been given pure lithium. It would have been concentrated wouldn't it? Wouldn't that make it harder to detect?"

"They would have had to have been given a lot of lithium to die instantly like that. Don't worry, it'll work," Alex reassured as she pulled out a bottle of universal indicator, "If this turns a sort of browny-orangey colour, then it's just blood. If it goes red, there's lithium in it. While we wait for this to work, will you go into the medical records of Samuel Aldrich."

Logan immediately pulled up a chair and typed in the name.

"The thing that I don't get is the amount of blood," Alex wondered as she closely inspected the wound on Samuel's chest, "There was so much around the body and on the body but looking at these cuts… I don't think they would have bled that much. Enough to kill them, definitely, but not to produce _that _much blood."

"Alex, come over here," Logan called.

She walked over and perched her head on his shoulder, looking at the screen curiously.

"What?"

"Samuel Aldrich gave blood. He went to the blood donor company right here in the hospital the week before he died."

Alex lifted her head in recognition.

"Of course, someone got hold of the blood. There must have been at least a pint in there. All the murderer would have to do would be to split the bag and allow the contents to spread along the floor. Everyone would think that it was just from the stab wound. But why? Why would they want to disguise the real cause of death?"

A small ding from her phone timer interrupted her stream of consciousness, indicating that it was time to add the universal indicator. She and Logan walked over to the small beaker. Alex picked up a tiny pipette and slurped up some of the indicator. She carefully carried it over to the beaker.

"So if this goes red, lithium is in their blood?" Logan clarified.

"Yep," Alex popped as she allowed a tiny to fall into the beaker.

Time seemed to slow down as the drop plummeted to the blood. It broke the surface with a little splash and the solution turned a murky grey as it tumbled. It soon settled however and Alex had to smile.

"Lithium."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Rose Tomlinson, RainbowSilenced, the-goblet-of-deduction, DonnaWatson, GottaLoveTen, Xin0Lan, and tinuviel for reviewing! <strong>

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	32. Original Case - Part 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, all rights go to the BBC. I do own Alex though :)**

**Author's Note: Very sorry for not updating for five days :0 Life just got a little hectic, but a good hectic so I am not complaining. Another reason for this being quite slow is the fact that this chapter went through quite a few rewrites because I couldn't seem to get it right. I hope you think this one is okay,**

**Enjoy-**

_Previously:_

_"So if this goes red, lithium is in their blood?" Logan clarified._

_"Yep," Alex popped as she allowed a tiny to fall into the beaker._

_Time seemed to slow down as the drop plummeted to the blood. It broke the surface with a little splash and the solution turned a murky grey as it tumbled. It soon settled however and Alex had to smile._

_"Lithium."_

Sherlock stormed back into Scotland Yard, John following after helping up the woman that his flatmate had knocked down. He shot Sherlock a scornful look as he brushed the woman's coat.

"It is quite alright," the woman sniffed and stepped back out of John's reach.

He gave her a quick apologetic smile and rushed after Sherlock.

"What are you doing now?" he sighed once he caught up to the Consulting Detective.

"Something other than the job has to link the people John; otherwise all of the workers at Mauris would have died. Why were only those seven chosen?"

John just shook his head tiredly, motioning with his hand for Sherlock to just carry on. The ridiculously early mornings and late nights were taking their toll on poor John. Sherlock's face twisted in disdain at his friend's obvious lethargy. _How could someone be tired in one of the most interesting cases?_

"There has to be something. The families are hiding something. Did you see the way they clenched and unclenched their fists? They were sweating and jittering, tell-tale signs of lying."

John nodded and blinked heavily to try and rid himself of his fatigue.

"So where are we going?" he asked.

"To question Mr Dobbs. He is definitely not letting on everything he knows," Sherlock muttered as he burst open another set of double doors.

"No Sherlock," John groaned, "This is the tenth time. I swear that man was on the verge of passing out last time."

"Well at least it will liven up the interview; Mr Dobbs is a particularly dull character."

"Sherlock," John cried aghast, "He has just lost his wife, give him a break!"

"The world is full of death and pain, why should I give him special treatment?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Because… because…" John wavered.

Sherlock smiled smugly.

"My point exactly."

* * *

><p>Alex and Logan stood staring at the beaker in blank shock. The clue was lithium, the substance that the victims had been killed with. Alex broke out of her stupor first.<p>

"We know the how, when and what. We just need to find the who and the why," she declared as she pulled out her laptop.

_Lithium overdose._

"So, to find the who, we need to know what type of person would have lithium on them," Logan continued.

"They would have to work with it or something. That was a lot of lithium in just one of the bodies so they would have to buy it in bulk and it isn't like it's something that can just be handed over the counter. Someone ordering that much lithium without a damn good reason would attract attention and raise suspicion," Alex replied.

She opened up her internet browser and typed in _Uses of Lithium. _She brought up the first page and swung the laptop around to show Logan.

_Lithium is used for treating mental illnesses, including bipolar disorder, depression, and schizophrenia; for treating eating disorders, including anorexia and bulimia; and for treating blood disorders, including anaemia and low white-cell count (neutropenia)._

Logan read through the page again.

"So according to this, we're looking for a doctor," he summarised slowly.

Alex nodded gleefully.

"And not just any doctor, one who specializes in mental health. Read the whole thing, it is all about the mind: eating disorders, mental illnesses! And of course, that's how they got the sevoflurane. They must work here. All they would have to do is wait in their consulting room until three o'clock and then sneak up/down to the ward. If anyone saw them, they would just glance over them because who is surprised to see a doctor in a hospital? Oh, this is fantastic! We solved it Logan! We solved it!" Alex cried in delight.

"Whoa, hold on!" he laughed, "We still need to actually _catch _the killer."

Alex paused in her celebration.

"Oh yeah… well that should be easy enough. All we need to do is find the right time slot for the shifts on the computer database and find all of the psychiatrists currently operating in the hospital. There shouldn't be too many."

Mercifully, it turned out that there only ten psychiatrists employed at St Bartholomew's Hospital. The partners in crime managed to pin in down to one person.

"Doctor Gillian Mauston," Logan grinned triumphantly.

_Why did that name sound familiar? _Alex shrugged it off and concentrated on the task.

"Hm, that's weird," Logan commented.

"What?" Alex asked as she leant over his shoulder to peek at the screen.

"It says that she is checked in. She's working overtime, that's what it says on here anyway."

"Why is that weird?"

"Because she was on nightshift last night as well. So far, she has done… um… twenty three hours nonstop."

"But…. Surely there are regulations about that?" Alex frowned, "I thought you could only work for a maximum of so many hours, surely twenty three must exceed that?"

"Maybe this isn't quite over yet," Logan mumbled gravely and rose from the computer chair, "We'd better leave, Marie must be coming back soon."

Ten minutes later, Alex and Logan had gotten rid of all evidence involving their visit to the morgue. The bodies were back where they had been found in the body bags and the beaker and universal indicator had been stashed back away. The security was down anyway, something which surprisingly, wasn't anything to do with Alex.

"Temperamental technology," Logan noted, "So how are we going to get into Dr Gillian's room then?"

"I have a sketchy plan; note the word 'sketchy'. I just need to run it by Sherlock first."

She texted him her plan, biting on her lip until he replied. She had fully expected him to praise her then go back to Mycroft's while he confronted Dr Gillian. Bets case scenario was that he would let her do it with him, but when he replied, she got even better than that.

**Great work, Holmes. Finish it through – SH**

Alex's jaw dropped, Logan having the same reaction when he read it over her shoulder.

"Is this really the same guy who was screaming at you yesterday for doing exactly what he's telling you to do today?"

Alex shrugged, "Maybe he's changed his mind about me."

"He can see you can handle yourself."

Alex tried to give him a smile, but couldn't quite make it sincere enough. Could she look after herself? Sherlock was right, last time she tried that, she ended up with a knife in her shoulder.

_What's the point in carrying on if you don't learn from your mistakes? _Alex thought. It was what her mother used to say to her when she gave up or became stuck on something when she was little.

"Come on then, fill me in on this plan," Logan said.

Alex began explaining while they walked up from the morgue, and finished just as they reached the main reception desk. Alex had subtly slipped her watch off her wrist and pushed it up her sleeve while they were talking. They stopped by the waiting chairs.

Nodding to herself, Alex blew out a breath and walked up to the desk.

"Hello, can I help?" the receptionist asked kindly.

"Um, yes sorry! I err-" Alex purposely stumbled, her face flustered.

"Are you okay, miss?"

"I-uh have lost my watch. It was a present from my late grandmother and…" Alex put her head in her hands and Logan pulled her close to him, "I think it may be in Dr Mauston's room."

The receptionist immediately took on a sympathetic face.

"Why don't you pop along and have a look, dear?"

"But she might be busy," Alex sniffled.

"She doesn't have any patients for another two hours; she's just catching up on some paper work. You two go on and scout around, I will keep my fingers crossed for you," the woman smiled.

Alex smiled back tearfully and turned down into the indicated corridor. As soon as they passed the corner, Alex casually wiped the tear from her cheek and fixed her hair.

"I still don't understand how you do that," Logan shook his head in bemusement.

Alex put a hand to his chest to stop him in his tracks.

"What?" he asked.

Alex pointed to the door to their left and Logan's face cleared with recognition. Nailed to the wood with fancy writing was the name _Dr G Mauston_ on a golden plaque.

Alex looked at Logan and licked her lips nervously.

"Are you ready?" she whispered.

"Of course."

She closed her eyes and got into character as she knocked on the door. There was a shuffling of papers before a flushing face peeked through an open door.

"What do you want?" the woman asked.

"Dr Mauston, is it?"

"Yes… w-who are you?" she fumbled.

"My name is May and this is my brother Max, we think our mother left her watch in here earlier," Alex lied, stepping away to show Logan.

"Oh, well…. Come o-on in," Dr Mauston stuttered.

Alex frowned as the woman's back turned to welcome them in. She didn't seem like the mass murdering type. Even Alex had to admit, it was a pretty good cover. Pushing that thought aside, she entered the room and stooped down beneath a leather sofa, pretending to look for the watch. Logan followed suit.

"So y-your name is May?" the woman clarified nervously.

"Yup."

Alex continued to scramble around throughout the dust.

There was a moment of silence before a teary,

"Liar."

Alex's eyes shot to Logan in panic. They were busted. She tried to remain calm and straightened up to her full height.

"I don't know what you mean-"

"Just stop talking, you're making things harder for yourself," the woman warned with tears flowing down her face.

Alex and Logan raised their hands in surrender.

"Why are you crying?" Alex frowned.

_Wasn't she supposed to be a ruthless killer?_

It was then that Alex saw the earpiece sitting snug in Dr Mauston's lobe.

"Is someone making you say that?" Alex asked.

Logan nudged her in the ribs with a look clearly expressing his thoughts of 'shut the hell up'.

"I'm sorry," Dr Mauston apologised shakily.

"Look, I can help you. Just take that thing out of your ear and come with me," Alex coaxed, taking a brave step forward.

Dr Mauston immediately scuttled backwards into the wall.

"NO! Don't come any closer!" she cried.

"Why are you listening to that person? Who is it?"

"Y-you have to understand," she sobbed, "He has my little girl. She is only two!"

"Who does, who has your little girl?" Alex pressed, still inching closer.

"I can't tell you!"

"Yes you can!" Alex encouraged.

Dr Mauston tried to back up further but she was already against the wall.

"He'll kill her," her voice cracked.

"He won't. Tell me! Please!"

"No! Please let her go, sir, please," she begged into the ear piece.

Alex heard some instruction be whispered into the woman's ear. Dr Mauston (if possible) grew even paler.

"No," she breathed.

At that moment, a most horrendous sound split through the air. The sound of a child's pain filled scream.

"STOP IT!" Dr Mauston wailed, tears flowing thickly down her deathly pale cheeks, "I_ will _do what you said, just STOP!"

The screaming ceased and Dr Mauston took a box out from the cabinet behind her.

"I'm so, _so _sorry. Please forgive me," she pleaded.

Alex frowned.

"He says that Logan Baxter has to stand over in the corner. H-he says he knows h-he has to be a… a good boy."

Alex looked to Logan, ready to tell him do as he was told – thinking he would try to stay with her – but was shocked to see him already walking into the corner. He was mouthing apologies at her and she shook her head, telling him it was okay, feeling strangely put-out.

Alex mentally shook herself and concentrated on Dr Mauston. The doctor carried the box over and brought out two small white discs attached to wires. With dawning terror, Alex realised what was going on.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Dr Mauston mumbled over and over.

Alex nodded. She understood the crying doctor had no choice. Therefore, when the cold, merciless electrodes were attached to her, she didn't resist, no matter how much she wanted to.

Another instruction was hissed into the broken woman's ear. She nodded ruefully and turned on a television screen that lay behind her. A mechanical voice jeered through the static.

_"Hello, Alessandra Holmes."_

"Moriarty, I presume?" Alex said, her head held high but a tremor in her voice. "You've been irritating us for a while now."

_"Oh, I do love your fire. It will be a shame to extinguish it so soon in our meeting. Though of course, we have already met. I will let you ponder that one as the lovely Doctor Mauston plugs in the machine. I will put on a little soundtrack while you are working. Don't worry, there's no one else left on this floor. No one to disturb us."_

Another bout of agonized howls of a child ripped through Alex's heart. Dr Mauston fumbled with the plug and a fizzing sound emitted from the wires.

_"I'm going to ask you a series of questions Alessandra, nothing too taxing, just some simple little questions. If you get it right, you get to have a break. If you get it wrong or refuse to answer, you get a shock. See, simple isn't it?"_

"Fine."

_"Okay, question one: What is seven plus two?"_

"Nine," Alex answered bemusedly. _Seriously, that was it?_

_"Good girl, that was just a practice question. Now for the real stuff. What is your dear Uncle's little pet called?"_

"Pet?"

_"Answer it. Shall I give you a clue? Army Doctor."_

"John is not a pet!" Alex cried, forgetting about herself for a moment.

She was snapped back into reality as a shot of pain flashed through her. She hissed and glared unashamedly at the television screen. It wasn't that bad compared to what she was expecting.

"John Watson."

_"Good! Now… let's see… Question three: Which body part does Sherlock put in the fridge the most?"_

Alex could hear the mocking tone in the drone voice.

"Thumbs."

_"I think I may heat things up a little bit. On a scale of one to ten, how much do you loooovvveeee your Uncle Sherlock?"_

Alex scoffed, looking away from the screen, "This is ridiculous."

_"Didn't quite hear you there."_

"I said this is ridiculous!"

"Alex!" Logan implored from the corner. "Just do what he says."

_"I'd listen to him, Alex. Give her a shock, Gillian."_

The one that pulsed through her was significantly more painful that the last. Alex could barely quell a gasp.

_"Answer the question or it gets turned up. How much do you love your dear uncle out of ten?"_

"Ten," Alex mumbled.

_"See, it wasn't that hard. Just wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings, considering the fact you're out here when they told you to stay with Mr Mycroft."_

Alex's somewhat sweaty brow creased, "How did you know that? Anyway, Sherlock knows where I am, he'll be here any second."

The voice _tsk_ed, saying almost apologetically, _"No, I'm afraid he won't be. He doesn't know where you are. He has no idea at all."_

"But I told him… I..." Alex's eyes widened. "It was you. It was your number I was texting. You were pretending to be him."

Alex shook her head at her own incompetence. Of course Sherlock would never tell her it was okay to leave after the speech he gave. And there's no way he would have let her go to Dr Mauston's room alone.

_"I bet you feel silly now," _Moriarty said. _"Did it make you feel special? When you saw he was finally approving of you doing it alone? Did that simple, 'great work', make you feel all happy and good inside?"_

"Shut up," Alex murmured.

_"Oh, I soon, I'm running out of time anyway. Last question. Think you can handle that?"_

"Yes."

_"Good, good. Who are your parents?"_

Alex blinked, startled by the question, "Sorry?"

_"Your parents, who are they?"_

Alex licked her lips, not wanting to talk about her mother to him.

"I don't know."

_"Liar. I don't like it when people lie to me," _he said in a sing-song voice. _"Give her a seven."_

This time, the pain was tripled, making Alex cry out, her veins feeling like they were on fire. Logan was calling her name but she could only hear white noise. She thrashed around on the sofa, jaw clenched to try and control the pain. Only vaguely could she hear Logan telling Moriarty to stop. Finally, the machine was turned off and Alex laid on the sofa, breathing heavily.

_"You want to co-operate now?"_

"Yes," Alex's voice cracked, and she repeated in a stronger voice. "Yes."

_"Tell me about your parents."_

Still laid facing the ceiling, Alex said in a monotone voice, "My mother was Maybelline Holmes. She was seventeen when she had me. She committed suicide when I was six."

_"And your father?"_

"I don't know him."

_"What do you know _about _him?"_

"That he attacked my mum. That's it. That's all I know. Honestly."

_"Promise?"_

"Promise. Can I ask you a question now?"

He was silent.

Alex's stomach churned, wondering now if she had crossed some sort of line that she wasn't supposed to, that he was going to hurt her again. But, to her surprise, he laughed.

_"You've got guts, kid. Go on then, hit me."_

Alex swallowed, clearing her throat, "Why? Why do you want to talk to me so badly?"

_"I wanted to see what you were like."_

"Are you satisfied now?" Alex said, a drop of her irritation in her voice.

_"No, there are a few more scenarios where I need to assess your character. That's what this is about."_

"And you're done now? You're going to let me go? You're going to let Logan go? Or Dr Mauston and her daughter?"

_"Inquisitive, hmm, I like that. Okay, yes, yes, yes, yes… no."_

"What?" Alex pulled herself into a sitting position, feeling strong enough.

Dr Mauston's face crumpled, "But I did everything you asked! Y-you said you'd l-let her go."

Alex could hear the shrug in his voice as he said carelessly, "I lied. My gunmen are bored. You've got to keep them entertained. Same with children, right?"

She was whole-heartedly sobbing now, "Please, please no! Kill me! Please!"

_"Okay… after your daughter."_

Alex flinched at the sound of the gunshot.

"NO!" Dr Mauston wailed brokenly, falling to her knees.

_"Aaaaaand, here you go. Byeeeee!"_

"No!" Alex tried to protest but a gunshot whistled through the air, shattering the window and embedding itself in the doctor's lung.

On quaking feet, Alex stumbled over to the fallen woman. Logan finally broke out of the corner and ran to retrieve a blanket hanging on a coat peg. He pressed it firmly to the wound as Alex tried to keep the Gillian awake.

"Come on, stay with us. You're going to be okay!" Alex reassured.

The woman's eyes were glassy and her face tear stained.

"My daughter," she whispered. "Laura… she… Laura."

"I know, but she'll want you to live your life won't she? She won't want you to do this to yourself," Alex had no idea what she was saying, just quoting things she'd seen before.

There was a pause.

Alex glanced at Logan. Both knew she wasn't going to make it.

"You talked to my husband you know…" Gillian breathed.

"Did I?"

"Dr Mauston. He's the deputy manager at Maudsley Hospital. He came home full of nerves after your phone call. I wish I could have told him that you were only fourteen. Moriarty told me everything, gave me the sevoflurane from a different department and the shocks from shock therapy. I'm so sorry," she gushed, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

"Don't be," Alex crooned.

"They came in, from Mauris," Gillian explained, "They all had depression. One old man was diagnosed after his wife died. One of the others just had a miscarriage. It was common practice to give them the lithium pills to stabilize their mood and make less suicidal. They weren't to know what the lethal dose was. I asked Moriarty why they had to be cryptologists and he said because it was _your _code to break. He told me how to do everything. An opening to the ventilation system is behind my desk," her voice was beginning to weaken, "Moriarty took care of the lights and CCTV. I had no choice."

She was starting to slip.

"Tell me about your daughter," Alex said, gripping the woman's hand.

But she couldn't. Her eyes were closed and chest still. Logan took her pulse and grimaced.

Alex rested her head on Logan's shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he looked her over.

She felt achy and clammy.

"I'm fine," she lied, "Do me a favour though."

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell Sherlock and Mycroft about the electrocution."

"What? Why?" Logan asked incredulously.

"Just don't, please. This is my fault, I don't want them to… just don't."

Logan reluctantly nodded.

Alex pulled out her mobile and dialled Lestrade's number.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey Lestrade, it's Alex. The killer's a doctor called Gillian Mauston, she's-"

_"Alessandra, what the hell are you doing!?" _the unmistakable, livid tones of Sherlock yelled.

"You could have told me you had Sherlock with you!"

_"You didn't really give me chance," _Lestrade defended.

"Anyway, we're -"

_"We know, Mycroft has apparently tapped my phone and is tracing your call. We're on the way over to the hospital. Stay there and I'll warn you, Sherlock looks ready to murder you."_

"Joy."

Alex put the phone down and leaned back on the wall. Logan looked at her closely.

"I had better go before they get here," he said but made no effort of moving after looking at her ill face.

"I'm fine, get yourself gone before I'm holding this blanket to_ your_ wounds," Alex joked weakly.

He gave her a smile and a half-hug before leaving through the door.

Alex watched him go longingly and cringed as she heard the familiar slam of a police car door. Her body was still aching and trembling from the shocks and she really didn't want to have to face her irate uncle.

She heard the four furious footfalls as John, Lestrade, and Sherlock entered the room.

"What did I tell you?!" Sherlock yelled, but fell silent after one look at the deathly pale and shaking Alex clutching onto the hand of the murderer's corpse.

Sherlock was the first to move over to her and he held out his hand.

"Let go of her hand, Alex," he ordered sternly.

She obeyed but half-heartedly refused to take his.

"Alex."

She gave in and allowed him to pull her up. She was immediately overcome by a wave of nausea and clamped a hand to her mouth and stomach. Each adult reflexively stepped back. Alex _just_ managed to rein the contents of her stomach and leant against the wall for support.

"What happened?" John asked kindly as he took her pulse, but she could see the angry gleam in his eye.

"I just came in and saw her and… look I have just got a bug. I just want to go to bed and sleep it off."

Sleep didn't sound too bad at the present time. In fact, sleep sounded quite appealing.

"Alright, you can come back to Baker Street with me while Sherlock and Lestrade sort out this mess," John allowed and put a hand on her back to steer her out of the doors.

Sherlock watched her go, one look telling her she hadn't gotten away with it just like that. Alex didn't care, she would explain herself when this god-forsaken headache went away.

**HUGE thank you to: Quartz KitKat,** **rycbar15,** **tinuviel,Huntress111111, Loveinfinity, Xin0Lan,** **RoseTomlinson,** **Revella,** **jokerharley1980,** **GottaLoveTen,** **Sapphire lota,** **and emilybrock101 for reviewing! **

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**So, there is the case done. Thank you for sticking by this story, it means loads :) Please review and tell me what you think about the case as a whole or just the chapter.**

**Thank you for reading,**

**Please review**

**Abby**

**X**


	33. School's Out - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Update: Look for a chapter of the prequel to focus on the topic near the end of this chapter.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_ "What happened?" John asked kindly as he took her pulse, but she could see the angry gleam in his eye._

_"I just came in and saw her and… look I have just got a bug. I just want to go to bed and sleep it off."_

_Sleep didn't sound too bad at the present time. In fact, sleep sounded quite appealing. _

_"Alright, you can come back to Baker Street with me whilst you Uncles and Lestrade sort out this mess," John allowed and put a hand on her back to steer her out of the doors. _

John arrived back to Baker Street almost carrying Alex. Alex's body felt like it had been ran over by a double decker bus and then thrown off a cliff into a sea of electrified fish.

"I can get up the stairs, I'm okay really," Alex assured John.

However, as she took one step away from him, her legs gave in and John had to catch her under her arms.

"Evidently not," he remarked with a raised eyebrow.

Alex rolled her eyes but winced as the action caused her headache to increase. John looked at her worriedly as he helped her up into her bedroom. Alex threw off her jacket and slipped into bed fully clothed. John watched her carefully from the doorway.

"So what actually happened then?" he asked finally.

"I don't know what you mean," Alex replied, eyes closed.

"Drop the act Alex. You haven't just got a bug. They don't come on this strongly this quickly and you look like death on two feet."

"Thanks," she muttered sarcastically.

"I'm serious. Look, I'm a doctor, I can help you," John told her kindly.

Seeing that Alex was still continuing her tight lipped composure, he added, "And patient confidentiality still stands."

Alex looked up at him. Perhaps she could. Just for her own peace of mind- that thing had been pretty painful. She was sure there was no serious damage but it was better safe than sorry.

"And you won't tell Sherlock?" Alex checked.

"Not a word to him if you don't want me to," John promised.

"Okay…" Alex nodded.

John sat down on the stool from under her desk.

"So what happened?"

Alex took a deep breath.

"Logan and I have been working on the case. We figured out that the first letters of the objects spelt out _Lithium_ and it turns out that it was an overdose of the chemical that led to the deaths. We traced it back to Dr Gillian Mauston and we went after her. She was being told what to do by that Moriarty person again. She was told to bring out a box. She was crying so hard. Moriarty had her two year old daughter. He kept hurting her and I could hear… her," Alex swallowed a hard lump in her throat, "Gillian had no choice, she had to put these electrodes on me. Moriarty asked me some questions; he said that if I got the answer right, nothing would happen. If I got it wrong, I was electrocuted."

John stiffened.

"The first one wasn't too bad. It just felt like an injection or a static shock. I got that on the second round."

"What question did you get wrong?"

"I back chatted, told Moriarty that you weren't Sherlock's pet," Alex admitted.

John sighed and pinched his nose between his fingers.

"You should have just done what he told you. I wouldn't have cared what you called me if it was to save yourself from pain."

"Sorry," Alex muttered.

"Please tell me that was the end of_ that_ game," John begged.

"Well… not really…" Alex began.

John groaned.

"It was the last question. He asked me about my parents," Alex shook her head, frowning. "I-I didn't say anything, told him it was stupid and that I wasn't playing. Said I didn't know who my parents were. He didn't like that."

"Shocked you?" John guessed.

"Seven. I can still sort of feel it. It hurt so much more than the other ones," she coughed. "Anyway, I told him what he wanted to hear and then he – well you saw what happened."

"Can I see where the electrodes put?"

Alex lifted down the top of her shirt slightly to reveal her neck. An angry black burn mark tainted the skin. John clenched his teeth.

"I just need to get something for that burn. I will be back in a minute," he said and left the room.

Alex span so that she was facing the mirror and turned her shoulder blade to get a look at her injury. She hadn't realised that it had left a mark; she just felt pain all over so she didn't even notice it concentrated in one area. She vigilantly probed the skin around the blemish and winced. She had studied burns with Molly in the morgue before and recognised that her burn wasn't third degree thankfully because it hadn't gone through bone or muscle. It did look second degree however. Still, it could be worse.

John entered the room with his arms laden with supplies. He placed them down on the floor next to the bed and took out a damp cloth.

"Can you pull your shirt down a little? Thanks. Now, this is just cool water so it will only feel a little cold."

Alex nodded and shivered as freezing drips ran down her spine as John pressed the cloth to the burn. Surprisingly, it actually began to soothe the throbbing, giving Alex some temporary relief. John held it firmly and pulled it back once he was sure that the wound was clean. He then pulled out a second cloth and a bottle.

"This one has antiseptic on so it might sting a little," he warned.

He tipped the upside down, allowing the liquid to seep into the cloth. He righted the bottle, screwed the lid on and set it aside on the bedside table.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Wasting no time, John pushed the cloth against the burn. Alex bit down on her lip as the antiseptic bit angrily at her skin.

"Just one more minute," John reassured and continued to gently dab.

He was finally done with the liquid and Alex's shoulders slumped forward in relief as the pain stopped. Next, steri-strips were placed over. John then unrolled a gauze dressing. He wrapped it around Alex's neck and under her arm to keep the bandage in place.

"All done," he smiled cheerfully.

Alex pulled up her t-shirt and was extremely relieved to see that the bandage was covered by her clothing.

"Oh, almost forgot," John fished around in his pockets and pulled out two tablets, "One is to settle your stomach and the other is just ordinary ibuprofen."

Alex swallowed the pills obediently and leaned back onto her pillows. Her eyes were beginning to close and a blissful numbness was slowly spreading from the tips of her toes to the hair on her head.

"Oh, John," she managed to mumble sleepily. "Give Sherlock my new phone. Look at the messages. I didn't mean to go against him."

She vaguely registered John placing her duvet around her shoulders before slipping into the realm of sleep.

* * *

><p>The next day, Alex awoke aching, but without the nausea. Another ibuprofen and a few minutes of lying still saw her right, though. She dressed and came downstairs, noticing Sherlock sat in his chair. When he didn't say anything about what had happened, she sent a grateful smile to John in the kitchen, for keeping her secret.<p>

Sherlock did broach the subject of the messages, saying that he understood why she would do something like that if she thought he was giving permission, but told her to use her common sense in the future. It was true, she had smelt a rat, but decided to ignore it, which she admitted was stupid.

Meanwhile, Lestrade had found the body of Laura Mauston at a stately house on the outskirts of London, the owners of which were on holiday. Apparently, they were now selling. At first, all Alex could think about was Laura, but she had forced it out of her mind by keeping busy; mostly by cleaning the flat, doing homework, and annoying Sherlock with the vacuum cleaner nozzle, as saw her over the next week.

Everything seemed to be going back to normal – meaning she was allowed out of the house alone again – until the next Sunday night. As she was getting into bed, she couldn't help feeling like something was hanging over her. Something she had forgotten.

Alex awoke on Monday morning with a stretch and a yawn. The sun was splaying though the crack in the curtains and the sound of birds tweeting could be distinguished. A smell of fresh coffee wafted up through her door (courtesy of John obviously). All in all, it was a pretty fine way to wake up.

The first day of term was always the worst, so it was better to get it over with. After pulling on her school uniform, Alex ran downstairs to get some breakfast.

"Morning all," she greeted brightly.

Sherlock looked up in surprise but quickly hid his expression to that of annoyance.

"Why are you so perky this morning? You're usually on the prowl to murder someone before eight o'clock."

Alex shook her head in amusement and walked into the kitchen.

"Hey John. Is there any toast going begging?" she asked.

John just opened his mouth to reply when two slices of toast popped from the toaster behind him. They both laughed at the fantastic timing as Alex smothered her bread with jam.

"So what are you and Sherlock doing today?"

John looked up from his newspaper.

"I'm off on a date with Sarah after work. We've booked a nice restaurant for dinner and then we're going to see a film. I gave Sherlock permission to do one of his experiments in the living room so he 'can deduce passer-bys as he does it'," John quoted in an exasperated tone.

Alex giggled and forced the rest of the toast in her mouth.

"Better be off to school then."

She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. She was just out of the door when Sherlock called her back.

"Have you got your chemistry homework?" he shouted.

Alex rolled her eyes. Why did he feel the need to ask when he blatantly already knew? She hopped back upstairs and dashed to her desk to pick up the essay Sherlock had basically written for her. She was about to turn out of the room when she caught sight of the calendar. Suddenly, all of the dread made sense. The date was 13th of October. The anniversary. Eight years.

Alex swallowed painfully. That one day was always hard, but usually Sherlock or Mycroft would take her out or take her mind off it. Sherlock had seemed his usual self. How could he be so normal on the day that his sister committed suicide? The realisation came down on Alex like a ton of bricks: he had forgotten.

Alex laughed mirthlessly and continued out of the door. Of course he forgot. 'Caring is not an advantage'. It seemed that Alex's mother was not an exception like her daughter. Alex pushed through the front door of 221B and into the autumn wind. The sun still had some warmth clinging on from the dismal summer but a cold edge was creeping into the wind like blood through a vein.

Wrapping her coat around her, she walked over to the curb and hailed a taxi.

* * *

><p>"Miss Holmes!" the curt voice of her form tutor snapped.<p>

Alex's head shot up from its resting place on her hand and drew her eyes away from the window.

"Yes, Miss?"

"The bell has gone if you hadn't already noticed."

Alex looked around the room and was surprised to see that students from the next class were filtering in and shooting Alex strange looks. Alex gathered up her books and shoved them into her bag.

"Thank you, Miss Robins," Alex thanked politely.

"It is _Mrs_ Robins actually, Holmes, if you spent enough time in lessons to find out."

Alex bowed her head and ducked out of the room. She had double French next. _Oh great._ She loved the French language, it was just the teacher, Mr Apolline. He hated Alex with a passion because of the time when she accidently corrected him on his French pronunciation in front of the whole class. She had not meant to say it out loud but she didn't think. It was in her first year as well, she thought he would have been over it by now. But no-one could hold a grudge quite like Mr Apolline.

So when Alex skidded into the class five minutes late, she wasn't surprised to be given lines. Three A4 sheets, fifty on each side- double the amount anybody else would have gotten. However, Alex knew to just keep her mouth shut. Harsh experience had taught her that, so she shuffled dejectedly to the back and took her seat.

"Now that Miss Holmes has graced us with her presence," Mr Apolline paused to allow the class to snigger, "We may be able to get on with the lesson. I _am_ saying that right aren't I Miss Holmes? Less-_on_?"

"Yes, sir," Alex mumbled quietly, she had learnt to just give him his satisfaction.

And the taunting continued. It was half an hour away from the bell for next lesson was due to ring and Mr Apolline stood up on his high horse again.

"Now, after all of that, you should all be capable of completing this writing frame about your family."

He began to hand out the sheets. Everybody immediately began to scribble down about their relatives but Alex had hit a roadblock. She hesitantly raised her hand.

"Sir?"

Mr Apolline sighed dramatically,

"Yes, Holmes?"

"I was wondering what the French word for uncle is, sir." _Since you don't allow dictionaries._

"Oh don't do the extended family, just stick to Mother, Father, Brother, Sister, that kind of thing," Mr Apolline shrugged off and turned back to marking books.

"Your essay won't take very long then," a girl on Alex's right jeered.

Alex turned to the girl she knew as Adele Thomas.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I can't help you Holmes. You have to _describe _your family; I don't know what the French for suicidal, useless, druggie or dead is."

Alex's hands clenched together as she mentally counted to ten.

Don't lash out.

Don't lash out.

Don't lash out.

The anger faded as she drowned out the mockings with the mental sound of Sherlock's violin. She had programmed herself to listen to Mr Apolline however, so when he addressed her, she hastily looked up at him.

"Yes, sir?" she asked meekly.

"Are you stuck?"

"Um… a little sir."

"Just describe what one of your family members are like. Take your mother for example."

Of course, it was time for another jab,

"Alex wouldn't know about that. All she knows from her mother is how to tie a damn good knot!"

The majority of the class erupted in laughter – the others knowing it was wrong to laugh but adopting the usual acceptance because Alex was weird, laughed quietly. Alex hung her head.

The bell for next lesson couldn't have rang any sooner. Alex scooped up her textbook and pencil case and practically flew out of the door. She avoided a foot poked out to trip her over and managed to duck a balled up paper bullet aimed at her head as she took shelter in the English room. Only the trainee teacher stood in the corner, the rest of the class were mucking around in the hallway. Alex loved trainee teachers. They didn't know anything about her, so they couldn't be mean and she could just be seen as normal: something she had always craved.

Her refuge didn't last long however as the rest of the class flooded in loudly. They took advantage of the lack of authority in the trainee teacher and were even more obnoxious than usual. Once the rabble had died down, Miss Abbot stood at the board and pointed to a poem.

"Here is a poem by Robert William Service about a mother and her children. You have all been studying this so I have been told for the past two weeks so I thought that you may like to write your own poem. This one is written from the mother's point of view, so I thought you could write yours from your point of view as the son or daughter. You all have half an hour to produce the best poem you can about your mother," Miss Abbot babbled enthusiastically. "Or whoever you have at home."

A shuffling of paper was heard as poems were born. Alex took her pen to the page and wrote _Mum_ but found that she didn't know what to write. What could she write? Everyone's was happy and lovely, full of compassion for their caregivers. What could Alex put down? It wasn't like she could write a particularly happy poem about Sherlock and Mycroft either.

_There was a bored detective,_

_Who claimed to be so perceptive._

_When his sister got pregnant,_

_He became a parent,_

_And wished she'd used a contraceptive._

Alex looked down at her poem, snorted, then crumbled it into a ball.

_So perceptive he forgot the date today, _she added bitterly in her head, pocketing her poem.

She turned when she felt Becky Davidson tapping her on the shoulder.

"Are you coping okay?" she asked sweetly.

Alex frowned. Was she being _nice_?

"Um… yeah thanks."

"Good," she gave another sickly smile, "I just thought it might be hard to find words that rhyme with suicide and crackhead."

Alex gritted her teeth together as a cackle sounded from all those who heard.

Alex gripped onto her pen so hard that the nib snapped clean off, sending a spray of ink all over the desk and her hands. Needless to say, the whole class found this very amusing.

"Miss, could I wash my hands please," Alex asked thickly, trying to rein in her tears.

The teacher nodded and stuffing her ruined poem into her pocket, Alex threw on her bag and ran to the toilets.

She leant heavily on the porcelain sink and let her tears flow, clinging onto the sides of the sink with such force that her knuckles were white and protruding. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, trying to stop the saltwater that kept flowing from them.

A hard pang in the back made Alex spin around to see the girl that had started the mockery.

"You're crying," she sounded surprised.

"So? I bet you've cried before," Alex snapped, drying her tears with the back of her hand.

"Oh, yeah, I've cried. All the time when we were in Primary. All because of you."

"What?"

"Just once I wanted to be the best at something. I'm clever. I want to go to Oxford. But every night I'd go home with my test results 99% and my parents would stand there and say surely, _surely _this is the best in the class," Becky shook her head. "But it never was, was it? Because you always got 100. And when you'd sit on your own on that bench, reading a book that everyone knows you don't understand, trying to be so _clever, _did you ever stop to think how we'd feel?"

Alex turned back to the sink and scrubbed her hands.

"You play the whole, shy, timid little girl card, getting sympathy from trainee teachers and anyone else who'll listen – you don't understand! It drives me _insane! _Oh, and to top it all off, you expect us to feel sorry for you because your mum topped herself, but we all know what she was like! _You _know what she was like!"

"Shut up!" Alex shouted, looking at her through the cracked mirror above the sink.

"Remember that time she came into class two looking like a madwoman, picking you up and bolting, pushing away anyone who tried to stop her? You know after you'd gone, we were all so scared that Mrs Duarte had to send for parents to come and pick us up because we wouldn't stop crying? That's why she called Social Services, Alex, because your mother _was crazy _and a _danger _to you_!"_

Alex couldn't take anymore,

"What do you want from me?" she yelled, grief clouding her judgement, "I can't do anything about what my mother did, and I can't do anything about what I did when we were children! What do you want from me?! You want to hit me? Go on, hit me!"

Becky looked at her in shock.

"Go on! Hit me! For all the times I made you cry, all the times my mother scared you, all the times my uncle would glare at you for pushing me over in the playground! Hit me like you've always wanted to! For every time I beat you in a test, HIT ME!" Alex screamed hysterically.

A strong fist connected with the side of her head, causing her vision to blur.

"Do it again! Come on! Hit me again!" Alex egged on. "Felt good didn't it? Feels good getting revenge."

The next one resulted in Alex falling to the floor.

"Alex…" Becky suddenly stopped, gaining control of herself as she looked down at Alex's bleeding face.

For a moment, Alex thought she was going to help her up. Seconds passed…

But all she said was, "If the teachers ask, you fell."

And with that, she left. Alex still lay in a shuddering heap. Feeling the pain and adrenaline had given her a buzz. A temporary relief. But now the relief was gone and the bell for lunch had gone. Soon, the bathroom would be full of girls texting and refreshing their makeup. Alex made up her mind and climbed out of the frosted glass window onto the pavement outside. Her feet knew where she was going.

It wasn't long until Alex was at the cemetery gates. She walked the well-trodden path to a certain gravestone and looked down at it. It was a beautiful black marble with the words _Maybelline Holmes_ inscribed onto it.

She never really went to her mother's headstone. It was too painful and she never really knew what to say. She didn't know why she had thought to come here. Tears ran down her face as she stood in silence, just looking.

Eventually, she gathered the courage and abandoned her pride enough to talk.

"They're wrong," she said, sniffing. "Becky and the others, and Mrs Duarte. They're wrong, you were… you were the…" Alex looked up, blinking away her tears. "You were never a danger to me. Ever. You were only ever a danger to yourself," she took a breath. "I'm not going back to school. After this, I'm finished. There's too much hate and pain there, and I have enough of that in my life as it is. I have enough of crying in the middle of the night," Alex stood up, steeling herself. "Which is why I'm not coming back here, Mum. It's just… well, you know. You'd never go to your grandmother's grave whenever we were there so I suppose you know how I feel. So… bye… b-bye, Mum."

Alex turned on her heel and went back the way she had come, willing away her tears and trying to push any painful thought from her head, including her mother.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Quartz KitKat, RainbowSilenced, Dark Side of the Bright Side, Xin0Lan, GottaLoveTen, emilybrock101, Rose Tomlinson, fmxc17, E I Cochrane, and Sapphire Iota for reviewing!<strong>

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**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	34. School's Out - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, all rights go to the BBC**

**Author's Note: Hello Everyone! Hope you are all well and enjoy this chapter. I think the next one will be the Great Game so :DD**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"They're wrong," she said, sniffing. "Becky and the others, and Mrs Duarte. They're wrong, you were… you were the…" Alex looked up, blinking away her tears. "You were never a danger to me. Ever. You were only ever a danger to yourself," she took a breath. "I'm not going back to school. After this, I'm finished. There's too much hate and pain there, and I have enough of that in my life as it is. I have enough of crying in the middle of the night," Alex stood up, steeling herself. "Which is why I'm not coming back here, Mum. It's just… well, you know. You'd never go to your grandmother's grave when we were there so I suppose you know how I feel. So… bye… b-bye, Mum."_

_Alex turned on her heel and went back the way she had come, willing away her tears and trying to push any painful thought from her head, including her mother._

Alex arrived back at the school and climbed back through the window as the girl's backs were turned five minutes before the bell. She carefully hid behind her hair as she pickpocketed one of girls and slipped backwards into a cubical. She slid across the bolt on the door and took out the makeup bag that she had acquired. Thankfully, it had a mirror inside and Alex was able to look at the damage to her face.

A fair purple bruise lay beneath her fringe and another on her jaw line. Her lip was caked with dry blood and her eye was slowly swelling up. Alex took out her phone and followed the step by step instructions.

First thing was first, Alex took out a makeup wipe and wiped off as much of the blood as possible. She winced as the chemicals in the wipe irritated her cut but kept in a whine nonetheless. Her pain tolerance was really terrible. Once her face was more or less blood free, she smothered it in foundation to cover her bruises. Granted, it was a terribly botched job but she was hardly experienced in the field of cosmetics.

"What else is in here?" Alex asked herself under her breath.

Her eyes widened at a lipstick an extremely violent shade of plum. That would hide her bust lip. Once her work was done, Alex looked down at her phone.

_Now look at yourself in the mirror, do you look acceptable?_

"If by acceptable, you mean a slapper then yes," Alex mumbled and shoved her mobile in her blazer pocket.

The bell rang for fourth lesson and Alex braced herself before stepping out into the torrent of students whirling past. She managed to find a gap in the stream and slipped in. Even though she had so much makeup on that there wasn't even the faintest trace of injury, Alex still kept her head down as much as possible, paranoid.

Alex slipped into her seat in maths and was immediately confronted by her maths teacher.

"Alessandra Holmes," the booming voice of Mr Chatterjee groaned.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take that gunk off your face now, Miss Holmes."

Alex froze.

"S-sir, I can't-"

"Nonsense! Take out a wipe and rub it off. Here," he handed her one from the Pupil Support Drawer.

Alex looked at it with dread. If she wiped it off, all of her bruises would be visible for the whole school to see. She quickly avoided eye contact with Becky, who was just walking in the door.

"Sir, honestly I can't," she apologised.

He looked down at her dauntingly, his beady eyes fixed on hers. Nobody said 'no' to Mr Chatterjee.

"Very well, Miss Holmes," he began coolly, "Off you pop to the Behavioural Support Unit."

Alex inwardly groaned. She was so screwed. And that was her thought as she pulled on her bag and slouched down to the BSU. She hesitantly knocked on the door and was immensely relieved to see Mrs Baker answer.

"Hello Alex, what can I do for you?" she asked pleasantly.

Mrs Baker was the only person in the whole school who seemed to stand Alex. In fact, she actually quite liked the girl.

"Mr Chatterjee sent me down here," Alex told her quietly.

Mrs Baker looked at her pityingly and put a hand on her arm to lead her into the room.

"Sit down," she pointed to an empty chair pulled up against a desk.

Alex obliged as Mrs took the seat opposite her.

"Now, tell me what happened."

"I walked into class and Mr Chatterjee told me to take my makeup off. I refused."

"Why did you disobey him? And whilst we are on the subject, you don't usually wear that much makeup. In fact, you never usually wear any at all…" Mrs Baker trailed off looking at Alex expectantly.

Alex sighed. It was over now. She took a wipe from her pocket and pulled it across her face. Mrs Baker visibly shrank back at the sight.

"I need to make a phone call," she said and stood up from the chair.

Alex gripped onto her sleeve.

"Please don't tell my uncles, please!" she begged.

Mrs Baker just shook her head and picked up the coiled up telephone from its cradle. Alex heard every beep as the well rang number of Sherlock's mobile was dialled.

* * *

><p>Sherlock laid with his head propped up against the armrest of the sofa. His experiment was over with and now he was purely enjoying his procrastination. See, there were some times when Sherlock would be so bored that he would want to rip himself apart but there were other times (usually whilst alone) that he relished in the tranquillity of doing absolutely nothing and just collecting his thoughts. And now John was with his girlfriend, Sherlock had the flat to himself.<p>

His bubble of peaceful solitude was popped however as the annoying ringtone that Alex had programmed his phone to have pierced the barrier. Sherlock sighed deeply and threw open the phone without bothering to look at the number.

"Whatever you want, whoever you are, I am not interested. Goodbye-"

"Mr Holmes!" a female voice chastised.

Sherlock frowned, he knew that voice. He pulled the mobile away from his ear slightly to check the caller ID and did a double take.

"Why are you ringing me? Is Alex okay? No forget I said that. Of course she isn't okay otherwise you wouldn't be ringing. What's happened?"

"I think you had better come to the school Mr Holmes."

And with that, the phone line buzzed off.

Sherlock stared at the blank screen for little more than a second before throwing on his coat and dashing out to hail a cab.

It didn't take long at all for the taxi to mount the curb outside the school and Sherlock was immediately out and prowling up to the reception. He burst through the doors and was met by a bumbling receptionist.

"Hello, c-can I have your um… name please," she stuttered as she rose from her chair.

"Sherlock Holmes, here for Alessandra Holmes," Sherlock informed her impatiently.

She motioned with her hand for him to go through the door to his left. Sherlock realised with a sigh that the door was to the Behavioural Support Unit. What had Alex been doing now? Sherlock pushed open the door and his gaze fell upon a crestfallen Alex slumped in a chair in the middle of the room.

"Alex, what's going on?" he asked sternly.

Alex refused to make eye contact with her Uncle and kept looking down at her shoes, her hair conveniently falling over her face. Sherlock walked over and crouched next to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked, deciding on a different approach.

Alex still clamped her lips together and refused to let a peep out.

Sherlock took a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. Alex knew it was game over as she felt her uncle's hand stiffen.

"Alex…" Sherlock faltered.

"It was my fault," she said, slowly raising her head to meet him, revealing the extent of her bruising.

Sherlock didn't say a word, just pulled her out of the chair and to her feet. He brought her head back and examined the damage. His jaw set in anger as he recognised the fist shaped bruising pattern.

"Who did this?" he asked through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep a hold of his temper.

"I fell."

"Alex, I know what mark a punch makes," he reminded her.

"I fell," she repeated but her voice cracked on the last syllable.

Sherlock placed a hand on the back of her neck to lead her out of the door. He unknowingly pressed on the burn mark from the electrocution and Alex repressed a flinch. Sherlock had found out about the beating but there was no way that he was about to find out about _that. _She allowed him to take her out of the main reception door and out into the car park.

They were halfway across when Alex felt something sharp hit the back of her head. She stopped in her tracks and bent down to pick up the object that had been hurled at her. It was a paper aeroplane. She unfolded it and felt her heart sink.

_Freak_

That was all it said. She screwed it back up and stuffed it in the bin next to her. Sherlock had read it over her shoulder and felt a bubble of anger. There was no way that he was letting Alex go through what he did.

"As soon as we get home, I'm going to get you out of that school," he promised her sincerely. "You can go to another one."

"What's the point?" Alex said.

Sherlock turned to her frowning,

"What do you mean?"

Alex quickened her pace to stand by the edge of the road.

"Whatever you say, wherever you take me, it will just keep happening… because they're right. I'm a freak," she uttered softly and turned to walk down the path.

Sherlock caught her sleeve and pulled her back.

"Don't you ever say that," he whispered viciously, "You are the furthest from a freak that it is possible to be and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Alex held his gaze. If he was right, why did everybody she met at school seem to hate her with a passion? Why was she always the condemned girl with no friends? Deciding it was easier just to lie, Alex replied with,

"Okay…"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed but let it drop.

"Let's just go home," Alex sighed as she hailed a cab.

* * *

><p>Alex lay motionless on the sofa, her head faced toward the wall. She had been in that position since they had arrived back and showed no signs whatsoever of moving. All of the events that had taken place in the last few hours were stirring around in her head like a bubbling pan.<p>

"Right, get up," Sherlock ordered without taking his eyes off his violin.

"What?" Alex moaned.

"I'm sick of you moping around. Get a game and we'll play it."

Alex raised an eyebrow in consideration. As much as she wanted to wallow in her self-pity, games with her uncle always promised to be entertaining to say the least.

"Fine. But not Scrabble. I'll just get a quiz thing from the internet," she scrolled down on her mobile, "Okay, I am going to ask you some questions to see what character you would be in Doctor Who."

"Fine."

"Question 1: Do you like the idea of time travel?

Yes - oh, the places you could go!

Maybe - but wouldn't it be scary?

No - it sounds too dangerous."

Sherlock contemplated this.

"Yes, I could go back to the scene of the crime before it is even committed."

"Okay… Question two: If a stranger invited you aboard his time machine, would you go?

Yes - it's an opportunity too good to pass up

Maybe - there are other considerations

No - you don't want to go at all

No - you're the one doing the inviting."

"No I don't want to go at all. Whoever this stranger is, there is an ninety-eight percent chance that he is, as Mycroft so delicately puts it 'a goldfish'."

"A gold fish with a time machine?" Alex asked disbelievingly.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Okay, question three: Are you good with following instructions?

Definitely - you play by the book

A little bit - if there's a better way, though, why not?

Not at all - you strike out on your own."

"I play by the book," Sherlock answered confidently.

"Sherlock."

"Fine, not at all," he surrendered.

And so and so on the game went until Alex reached the end of question fifteen.

"You got the Doctor! It says: _On the outside, you are a bit goofy_ (I don't actually agree with that) _but inside you care deeply about your loved ones. Despite the way you involve yourself in other people's lives, you are super secretive about your own life_…"

Ignoring the first part, that was actually quite accurate. Sherlock did care very deeply about Alex and John, and he didn't divulge that much information about himself.

"So is the Doctor good then?" Sherlock asked cluelessly.

"Yes. Congratulations, you have succeeded as an uncle," Alex laughed, the quiz really lifting her spirits.

Sherlock smiled proudly and leaned back in the armchair. He regarded his niece for a moment and deemed it an appropriate time to bring up the question that had been stewing over in his head all day.

"So how are you coping then? With today I mean," Sherlock added.

Alex furrowed her brow.

"I thought you had forgotten. You didn't bring it up this morning."

"You were in a good mood and seemed to have forgotten yourself, I didn't want to bring you down," Sherlock said.

"I thought you had deleted the date from your mind palace, maybe it wasn't important enough," Alex muttered ashamedly.

Sherlock leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Your mother was a lot of things, but unimportant? No. Definitely not… Mycroft on the other hand-"

"Okay!" Alex interrupted, "We don't need another hour long lecture on the insignificance of Mycroft Holmes. You have to admit that his job has managed to get us into some high security places."

"I suppose. I could have gotten us in without him if I had to; I just thought that it would be nicer on him to feel included," Sherlock shrugged as he skilfully diverted attention away from the significance of the date.

"You are literally the worst liar in the world," Alex chuckled.

She stood up and headed for the kitchen.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked.

"No, can I go on your laptop though?"

"Why are you asking-? You already have it don't you?" Alex guessed from the kitchen.

"Yup," Sherlock replied, popping the 'p'.

Alex shook her head and turned to the kettle. Even if she didn't have her mum anymore, she still had Uncle Sherlock. He really was a fantastic parental figure, no matter what anybody said. Alex was confident that you couldn't find someone who cared about their own child more than Sherlock cared about her. Maybe he didn't openly show affection every hour of every day, or maybe he was obnoxious, rude and ignorant of current affairs but she knew he cared.

"Alex!" Sherlock yelled from the living room.

Alex rolled her eyes and stuck her head out from around the kitchen door. Fantastic time to interrupt.

"What?"

"Who's Natalia?"

"Who?"

"She's just emailed you."

"What's the address?"

"HotRussianBrides ... Never mind."

Alex burst out laughing.

**HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101**, **loveinfinity, Guest**, **Revella**, **Sapphire lota**, **Rose Tomlinson**, **E.I Cochrane**, **fmxc17**, **SHERlocked14**, **Xin0Lan**

**So, once again, I am sorry about the sadness of the previous chapter but I really wanted to show the true extent of the pain and turmoil that is going on inside Alex and how she puts on a mask to hide it all. I wanted to show that she isn't perfect and has many flaws and insecurities. I hope that came across. Anyway, I hope you all liked this chapter and it would really mean an awful lot if you reviewed, even just one word :)**

**Abby**

**X**


	35. School's Out - Part 3

**Author's Note: Hey, this chapter gets pretty violent and scary so I am just warning you. Also, this was meant to be on the end of the last one but for some reason the formatting went wrong and I can't replace it because it would mess up the chapters. Anyway, two updates in one night isn't a bad thing, haha.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Who's Natalia?"_

_"Who?"_

_"She's just emailed you."_

_"What's the address?"_

_"HotRussianBrides ... Never mind."_

_Alex burst out laughing._

Alex had wished Sherlock a goodnight (John still out with Sarah) and retired to her sleeping quarters at ten o'clock. He had waved his hand dismissively and gone back to muttering over his notes. Alex had just rolled her eyes and slipped snugly under the covers. Soon, she was dreaming.

_She was stood in an unfamiliar room. The features of the room were blurred and out of sync, so much so that the whole scene just seemed to blend into itself. She just managed to make out that she seemed to be in a corridor. A very old fashioned corridor, belonging to a very old fashioned house. It was dimly lit, only peeling wallpaper visible._

_The distinctive smell of sweat wafted passed Alex's nose. It was so prominent it almost made her retch._

"_Focus," she muttered to herself._

_Her own words seemed to ricochet of an invisible barrier causing the sound to warble and disjoint. However, a small tinkling sound of a child's singing crept through-_

"**_Ten green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_Ten green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_And if one green bottle should accidentally fall,_**

**_There‛ll be, nine green bottles hanging on the wall_**_."_

_The voice was soft and eerie, almost inhuman. Alex felt a shiver run up her spine as she heard a light patter of footsteps. She focused her eyes and through the mist was a young girl in a long flowery dress. The girl kept taking one timed step forward and seemed unaware of Alex's presence. Her patent leather shoes tapped slowly on the deep wooden floorboards._

"**_Nine green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_Nine green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_And if one green bottle should accidentally fall,_**

**_There‛ll be eight green bottles hanging on the wall."_**

_Alex watched in a petrified state as the melodic tones swam from the girl's mouth. As she passed, Alex looked closely and saw a striking resemblance to someone she had seen recently. Who was it? She couldn't think. But she did know one thing; the girl was much too pale. Her skin seemed to almost glow like silvery silk. Alex was reminded of a porcelain Victorian doll. The girl rotated on her heel to advance around the corner of the corridor. As she turned, Alex's jaw dropped._

_A large, ugly bloodstain blossomed over the little girl's back. Crimson spread across the fabric like a cancer and as Alex leaned forward to inspect further, she was almost sick. A deep, fist sized hole sunk into the girl's flesh. Bone and torn muscle protruded from the gaping wound and yet, the girl carried on singing, not an ounce of pain reflected in her face._

"**_Eight green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_Eight green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_And if one green bottle should accidentally fall,_**

**_There'll be seven green bottles hanging on the wall."_**

_It was then, as the blood matted hair fell over the girl's shoulders that Alex placed the similarity. Dr Gillian Mauston. It clicked. The girl was Gillian's daughter. The hole was caused by a bullet, fired under Moriarty's orders. All because he wanted to play a game with Alex._

"_No," Alex breathed softly._

_The girl stopped. Her singing stopped. Her head rose from where it was inspecting her frills on her dress and stopped dead in front of her. She was stood with her back toward Alex and gradually turned back so that they were facing each other. It was the first time that the girl had acknowledged Alex's attendance. She met her eye with such cold ire that Alex took a subconscious step back._

"_You know me. Don't you?" the girl cocked her head slightly to the side as she spoke._

_Alex nodded, her eyes wide with terror._

"_Laura."_

"_My Mummy used to call me that. No one calls me that anymore. There is no one here to call me that. This is where I am now," she looked down, pouting. "There's no one to play with here. Even the nasty man with the long gun has gone now. Where are they? Did I do something wrong? I just remember a big bang, like a firework, then everyone was gone."_

_"You didn't do anything wrong, Laura," Alex whispered._

_"Your name's Alex," she said suddenly. "Short for Alessandra. Alessandra Holmes. He was talking about you. He kept saying your name, saying you could save me."_

_"I couldn't, honestly I couldn't."_

_"But I didn't like his voice. He sounded like a bad guy. So I just sang my song and ignored him."_

_A placid smile replaced the frown on the girl's face as she sang._

"**_Seven green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_Seven green bottles hanging on the wall,_**

**_And if one green bottle should accidentally fall,_**

**_There'll be six green bottles hanging on the wall."_**

"_But you know what happens when you sing a song over and over and over and over and over again?" Laura asked, then answered herself without giving Alex the option to speak. "It starts to drive a bit mad. _He _was mad, wasn't he? He was mad because… because… he killed me… and my mum." _

_"Laura, I–"_

_"And it's your fault," Laura said, backing away, tears filling her eyes. "He said, th-that's what he said! He said he was d-doing this for you."_

_Alex got to her knees, putting herself at eyelevel with the girl, "Listen, I never wanted anything to happen to you or your mum. I-I had no part in it."_

_"You could have stopped him," Laura hissed. "You just didn't try hard enough. You just laid there, listening."_

_"I didn't get away scot-free, Laura–"_

_"No," she interrupted, leaning forward, so that their noses were almost touching. "Because you're never going to forget about me."_

_"Never."_

_"I'm always going to be there, in here," she rested her hand on the side of Alex's head._

_As soon as she made contact, Alex felt like she had been submerged in icy water. Black ink seemed to seep into her blood and spread through her veins like wildfire, burning and freezing at the same time. The last thing she saw was Laura's teary face before her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell through the wall she had been backed up against._

Alex shot up in her bed and clamped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Her eyes darted around the room, breaths strangled rasps as she attempted to regulate her breathing once more. Bitter tears sprang to her eyes as another corpse came crashing down on her conscience. Mum, Soo Lin Yao, all of the lithium murder victims, Dr Mauston and now Laura.

Alex squeezed her eyes shut as she flung her head back into her pillow. She lay awake for the rest of the night and just as she managed to catch five minutes before dawn, a small echo of a voice rang in her ears.

"**One green bottle hanging on the wall,**

**One green bottle hanging on the wall,**

**And if one green bottle should accidently fall,**

**There would be no green bottles hanging on the wall."**

* * *

><p><strong>Hope that was okay,<strong>

**Please Review**

**-Abby**

**X**


	36. April Ambon

**Author's Note: Hello! Hope you are all having a good weekend ****J Here is chapter thirty six.**

**Anyway, enjoy-**

_Previously: _

_Alex shot up in her bed and clamped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She couldn't interrupt Sherlock. Her eyes darted around the room for any sign of 'Laura.' Her breaths were strangled rasps as she attempted to regulate her breathing once more. Bitter tears sprang to her eyes as another corpse came crashing down on her conscience. Mum, Soo Lin Yao, all of the lithium murder victims, Dr Mauston and now Laura. Dear sweet Laura, driven insane._

_Alex squeezed her eyes shut as she flung her head back into her pillow. She lay awake for the rest of the night and just as she managed to catch five minutes before dawn, a small echo of a voice rang in her ears._

Alex rolled over on her side as she groggily awoke from her sumptuous five whole minutes of slumber and saw with a sigh that it was four thirty in the morning. It was far too early to get up and watch TV, but it there was no way that she was going to be able to fall back asleep.

The nightmare was still fresh in her memory and seemed to be taunting her every time that she thought she had forgotten about it. Deciding that she needed something to take her mind off the whole ordeal, she swung her legs over the side off the bed and pulled herself to her feet before quietly tiptoeing out of her door.

A quiet, rhythmic snoring sound could be heard from John's room, reassuring Alex of his unconsciousness. She popped her head into the living room and was surprised to see that it had been one of the rare occasions that Sherlock must have vacated to his bedroom. Alex ripped off a piece of paper and scribbled on-

_Going for a run. See you in a while – AH x_

She figured that going for a run would give her time to reflect and try to make sense of the chaos inside her head before it surrendered her to insanity.

And with that cheerful thought, Alex quietly pushed open the front door and stepped out into the cool morning breeze. London was always at its best in the morning. It had a beautiful bleary atmosphere as the city began to awake. You could just imagine it stretching its arms behind its head and letting out a well-rested sigh before allowing the inhabitants to begin their movements to head to work (or the dole office, depending on which way you swing).

Deciding that it was time to do some actual running, Alex picked up her knees and allowed her body to fall into a leisurely jog. Alex was more of a sprinter, long-distance definitely wasn't her cup of tea. She had tried to take runs before but they just ended in her going turbo-speed into the city centre, then collapsing onto a bench and wheezing for a good five minutes.

She had been jogging for around ten minutes now and was slowly approaching the park gates. She slowed down her pace to a saunter as she rounded onto the gravelled paths of the park. It was blissfully empty,

"Of course it is, it is four o'clock in the morning," Alex soliloquised.

Not a soul was in sight, only the comforting hum of blurry eyed insects hidden in the bushes. Alex didn't know why she didn't come here more often at this time. The solitude was serene and with living with Sherlock, some peace and quiet was just what the doctor ordered. She couldn't live without her fix of adrenaline though.

She stopped at a bench and was about to drop into it when she felt someone's eyes on her. She turned to see a small girl, no older than six, sat on her own on the bench across the pond. As soon as the girl realised that Alex was looking at her, she quickly bowed her head and became very interested in her shoes.

Alex abandoned the thought of the seat and walked over to the bench that the girl occupied. She sat down and studied the child.

"So what's a girl such as you doing out here at a time like this?" Alex asked with a smile.

The girl averted her eyes from Alex as she spoke, "Mummy said that I mustn't talk to strangers."

"Quite right to," Alex nodded, "But I'm only trying to help, you look a bit sad."

It was true, the girl in front of her had blotched skin around her eyes and there were distinct tear tracks down her flushed cheeks.

"I'm not sad."

Alex grinned at the blatantly untrue statement. It reminded her of her own 'I'm fine' lie that she commonly used.

"I'm Alex, Alex Holmes," Alex held out her hand, "What's your name?"

The girl mentally debated her next course of action but settled for a quick hand shake.

"April Ambon."

"Cool name," Alex complimented.

A brief silence fell.

"Sometimes people call me Pril. Is your name short for anything?" April asked.

"It is… but it is a secret," Alex replied mysteriously.

This grabbed April's attention as she spun around so she was facing Alex.

"Could you tell me?" she asked. "I won't tell anyone."

Alex mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.

"Please, I told you mine," April begged.

Alex was amazed at how one small fact could send children into such a state of eagerness as she shook her head once more.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise! Triple promise!"

Alex pretended to consider the statement and chewed her lip in thought.

"Pinkie promise?" Alex held out her finger.

April readily hooked it with her own with ecstasy written all over her face.

Alex looked around the deserted park as if trying to spot any eavesdroppers, and bent down to April's ear,

"My name's Alessandra," she whispered.

April's eyes widened in awe as if seeing Alex in a whole new light.

"You're like one of those princesses from Egypt that we get read to about! You could be sisters with Cleopatra!" the young girl exclaimed.

Alex allowed a bubble of laughter to escape from her throat at her new friend's enthusiasm. She had succeeded in making her trust her.

"I'm nowhere near royal enough to be associated with Cleopatra. So going back to my question, April: what are you doing out here at this time in the morning?"

April's face drained of all of the happiness that it had gained from hearing Alex's 'royal' name and she seemed to shrink back into the shy, edgy girl that Alex had first sat next to.

"It's my big sister. She had the bad stuff again," April breathed.

"What bad stuff?"

"The calahol," the girl shuddered at the word.

Alex frowned and mimed the words to test them in her own mouth to see if it fit into her vocabulary.

"Oh, alcohol?" Alex asked as she rearranged the letters.

April nodded sadly and rubbed her tired eyes with the back of her knuckles.

"She came home shouting last night. She slammed the door really loudly and my window wobbled. She came up the stairs and her and Mummy were arguing. Jenna, that's my sister, said some mean words to Mummy and that made her cry. And Mummy crying made me cry! Then I heard Jenna throwing up in the toilet so I held her hair back. Usually, Jenna would say thank you but last night she just pushed me back and ran off to her room. Mummy told me that Jenna was going to have a baby but she is only seventeen, I thought mummies were older than that. I said that to Jenna and she shouted at me. I got scared and ran here and I heard crashing and the living room lamp breaking as I sneaked out," April sniffed and ducked her head to hide her face.

Alex rested a hand on the girl's shoulder. She would have hugged her (Alex being the opposite of her uncle in the tactile department) but she didn't want to make the girl uncomfortable.

"Well, firstly, women can have babies when they're ready. Sometimes it just happens, it doesn't matter what age you are. My mum was seventeen when she had me."

"Was she? And you were happy?"

Alex went to respond, but paused. Would she call her childhood happy?

"Yeah," she settled on, not really telling the truth but not lying either. "Y'know, our families seem quite similar."

"Really?" April asked, trying to contain her tears. "Tell me about them."

"Okay, well, I live with my uncle and he's called Sherlock- I know, it's a funny name, I think our family has a craze for them," this got a weak smile from April, "But anyway. I went to live with my uncle Sherlock when I was seven. I was meant to be given to him when I was six but there was a problem. See, um, Sherlock's clever. _Really _clever and he gets bored a lot. And after my mum died, he got sad and… anyway, so… he kind of… well… he dabbled with drugs, which are like alcohol. He would get into a lot of trouble and he became very ill. When I was supposed to go and live with him, my other uncle, Mycroft, told him that he would have to get clean otherwise he wouldn't be able to look after me. For a year, I lived with Uncle Mycroft and I thought that Sherlock didn't want me anymore."

"What happened next?" April asked impatiently, hanging on to Alex's every word.

"He turned his life around," Alex couldn't help her smile. "He went to rehab, which is kind of, um, a place where you can get help, and he stopped using. He stopped being so mean and moody all of the time and eventually, Uncle Mycroft said that I could go and live with Uncle Sherlock."

"Why did he decide to stop?" April asked.

"I suppose because of me," Alex said, having not really thought about it for a long time. "Because of the people that he loves, even though he would never admit that. He knew that as long as he was taking the drugs, there would be a wall between the two of us. So he knocked it down and hasn't touched anything like that since."

"You think my sister will stop like Sherlock did?"

"I don't know," Alex admitted. "But it is possible for her to stop drinking for you and your family and her own baby, but you just have to be patient and try not to slap her as I tried not to slap Sherlock most of the time," Alex grinned.

April smiled a genuine smile that lit up her eyes and wrapped her arms around Alex's middle.

"Thank you, Alessandra," she whispered sincerely, her voice muffled by Alex's jacket.

Alex patted the top of the girl's head.

"No problem. Now, I think you'd better go home before something happens to you or your mum realises you've gone."

"Are you coming?"

"Well, I wouldn't want you to get hurt. How far is it?"

"A few streets away," April said.

"Lead the way, soldier."

April stood up straight and saluted before marching forward, making sure that Alex was following. Alex smiled; it felt good to make a difference.

After a few minutes of walking, the duo stopped at the top of a street of terrace houses and April turned to Alex.

"Thank you Alessandra Holmes," she smiled and gave her another hug.

The girl then let go and crept into her silent house next to where Alex was stood. Alex watched as a small hand peaked out between the curtains and gave a small wave. Alex returned the gesture and set off back to Baker Street.

* * *

><p>She arrived back just before six o'clock and Sherlock was sat in the kitchen.<p>

"Why did you wake me this morning?" Sherlock asked without looking up from his paper.

"It wasn't important," she replied nonchalantly as she busied herself with the arduous task of making some tea.

"Then why did you feel the need to escape the house for a run at four o'clock this morning?"

"You were asleep, how do you know what time I left?" Alex turned to him suspiciously while the kettle boiled.

"Mycroft texted me with a lecture on my parenting skills. Or lack of, anyway. Apparently, I'm supposed to keep you on a choke chain until you are eighteen. But then of course it will be raised to twenty one by Mycroft, just because he can," Sherlock narrowed his eyes at mid-space, as if pretending to glare at his insufferable brother.

"I'm pretty sure that Mycroft doesn't just make up laws to spite you," Alex chuckled as she poured the boiling water into the mug and plopped in a teabag.

"Are you sure about that? What about the 'It's illegal to enter the Houses of Parliament in a suit of armour' law that he made up?" Sherlock countered.

Alex giggled as she sat down opposite him with her tea.

"That case was pretty funny though."

"Hey, it was a good disguise! It was just a little difficult to get off, that's all," Sherlock defended.

"You rolled sideways onto the benches and broke the head of the education committee's arm. That's rule one in the art of disguise though, make sure you can actually get rid of it once it is no longer needed."

Sherlock pulled a face at her and turned back to his paper.

"Can I borrow your phone?" Alex asked after taking a sip of her drink.

Sherlock gave a noncommittal wave of his hand toward the sofa and Alex took that as a 'yes' as she picked up the phone and typed in Logan's number.

**Hey, how are you feeling? I didn't see you at school so I assumed you must be ill. –AH x**

His reply was instantaneous.

**WHERE THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? I HAVE BEEN TEXTING YOU CONSTANTLY FOR AGES! – LB x**

**Sorry, Sherlock threw out my new phone because of the whole Moriarty texting me thing. I'm on his – AH x**

**Okay, at least you haven't been brutally murdered. Anyway, I've been trying to get hold of you because I'm meant to be going down to Cornwall for a fortnight starting tomorrow to see the extended family and I was wondering if Sherlock would mind me staying with you instead. – LB x**

**Oh yeah, he will be completely cool with that. – AH x**

**Really?! – LB x**

**Yep, as soon as he gets the appointment booked for you castration then he will be fine. – AH x**

**Haha, very funny. Could you at least ask him? – LB x**

Alex sighed and obliged.

**Hi, it's a no go I am afraid. I am pretty sure than John will have to do CPR on Sherlock in a moment. Or dislodge the newspaper that he was just basically inhaled. – AH x**

**I figured as much; see you in a couple of weeks then, bye! – LB x**

Alex smiled, looking over at Sherlock. He continued to glare at her.

"I've always hated him," he muttered, turning back to the newspaper.

**Author's Note: Hey, hope that chapter was okay. I thought after so many angsty chapters that it was time for a bit of a lighter one ****J Plus, April will be playing a BIG part in Alex's life later on.**

**HUGE thank you to: Rose Tomlinson, emilybrock101, loveinfinity, hallo-hannah, rycbar15, Xin0Lan, DonnaWatson, E.I Cochrane, angelmusiclove98, fmxc17, Megthegoodtwin, and Quartz Kitkat for reviewing!**

**Replies have been sent to you.**

**So, thanks again to all of you! I find it quite challenging writing the romance scenes between Logan and Alex given my age and general naivety in that area haha. So anyway, Logan is off to Cornwall so we won't be seeing him for a few chapters unfortunately.**

**Please Review**

**-Abby**

**X**


	37. The Great Game - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's note: Wow, I can't believe the support from you guys, thanks a bunch!**

**Enjoy:**

Mycroft Holmes was sat in his study when one of his surveillance team walked in. Mycroft rolled his eyes. Oh what now?

"Joseph, if Japan hasn't sank into the sea, then I am not interested," he announced distractedly with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Japan is still intact, sir."

"Good, then go away."

"It's about Alessandra, sir."

Mycroft laid down his pen, resisting the urge to repeatedly bash his head off the desk.

"What about Alex?"

"Well, you told me to keep an eye on her after she left Baker Street at four this morning, and I couldn't help but notice her face was bruised. I made some calls and apparently she's been assaulted by a girl in her year. I trust that you haven't forgotten what day it was two days ago."

Mycroft wiped a hand across his face and sighed. Of course he hadn't forgotten, he had just assumed that Sherlock would have had the situation under control. Evidently not. Letting her wander around London in the early hours was one thing, letting her get beaten up was another.

"Your brother picked her up after the incident and from the footage, it looks like they had a little bit of a disagreement," Joseph continued, seeming slightly anxious as to what his boss's reaction would be.

Mycroft stood up and checked his watch- 12:30am. Perfect, Alex would be asleep.

"Get a car ready, Joseph," Mycroft ordered and picked up his trusty umbrella.

Joseph nodded accordingly and backed out of the room to fulfil his employer's wishes. Mycroft gritted his teeth in anger once Joseph had left. He leaves Sherlock one thing to do, one responsibility: look after Alex. Time after time he proved he couldn't.

Alex sighed and rolled onto her back. She had been tossing and turning for a good two hours now and her apparent inability to drift off to sleep was beginning to irk her. She had tried everything, counting imaginary sheep, drinking camomile and even listening to a soothing playlist from the internet. Nothing had made any difference whatsoever. If anything, it only made her more agitated and restless. But the most annoying thing was that she didn't know _why _she couldn't get to sleep. Fair enough if she was stressed over something but things were beginning to look up. She was out of that horrid school, Sherlock hadn't forgotten about Maybelline's death, and Alex had just helped a little girl earlier that day, so why was her body not cooperating?!

"Maybe I could go and get a book," she murmured from her position on her back.

She nodded to herself, deeming her plan worthy of pulling herself out of bed (not that she was doing much in it).

She walked over to her bookshelf and found one of Sherlock's books, _the Founding of the Periodic Table and the Impact it made in Modern Medicine and Science_- if that didn't send her to sleep, nothing would. She decided she would start it after getting a drink, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

She frowned.

A black car laid mounted on the curb outside, and not just any old black car, Uncle Mycroft's black car. What could Mycroft possibly want enough to actually visit Sherlock?

The light was on in the living room. She should have gone back upstairs, but Alex found that she couldn't have stopped her legs from moving her forward if she had wanted to and suddenly, she was outside of the closed door of the sitting room. She pressed her ear against the wood and listened.

"I cannot believe you, how did you not notice?" Mycroft questioned in a whisper, obviously not wanting to wake his already woken niece.

"She's very good at hiding things," Sherlock defended in an equally quiet tone.

"She's a teenage girl, for God's sake!"

"Well I didn't see you riding in with the answers to everything. If she is so transparent, how come you didn't do anything to stop it, or are you too busy to notice her?"

Alex winced, that was a low blow.

"Sherlock, you know that Alex is above all of my work and you know it," Mycroft replied coolly.

The girl couldn't help but feel a small fuzz of happiness swell inside of her but pushed away the vain thought to concentrate.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mycroft. It's no wonder that our sister left Alex to _me_."

"Yes, and in case you have forgotten, you were too busy getting so high at the time that you couldn't even remember that you had a niece!" Mycroft hissed back.

Alex stepped back from the door like she had been burned. This wasn't her territory and she felt like she was intruding on something that she should never meddle with. The conversation was between Mycroft and Sherlock alone, she had no business there.

Walking lightly on her feet, she made her way back to her bedroom and crawled back into her bed. She felt dirty. She wished that she had never heard the argument at all. She wanted to know Sherlock as the man he was now, not the junkie he was then. She wanted to forget, she needed to forget.

But she remembered that year so clearly, more clearly than any years before and after it. The initial, blinding grief of losing her mother, then the uncertainty as to what was going to happen to her now, the betrayal she felt by Sherlock, and the fact she couldn't even look at Mycroft without seeing her mother made it all so much worse. It was only a year later that she began to revert back to herself again, but she was never the same. In that year, she had tone more growing up than she had done in six years.

Alex hurriedly turned on her side when she heard her door open, squeezing her eyes closed.

"Alex, I know you're awake," Mycroft said from the doorway. "You thought I wouldn't hear you?"

Sighing, she turned over to face him, "I'm sorry, I–"

"I just thought you'd be pleased to know that you're now officially homeschooled," Mycroft interrupted, obviously not caring about the eavesdropping. "We should have done it years ago but your mother was always adamant that you stayed in school."

"You think she'd be okay with this?" Alex asked.

"She'd do the same thing. In fact, she would noticed and done something about it earlier than we have."

"Don't say that," she replied. "It's okay, honestly. I barely spent any time in school anyway. I'm sure Sherlock can do a better job than all of my old teachers put together."

"Hmm, I seem to recall a Mrs Duarte constantly ringing me when you were in infants. I'm sure he'll be better than her."

"Oh yeah, that cow," Alex grinned, remembering her. "She hated me."

"She hated all of us," Mycroft remarked, nodding. "I'd better be going. Goodnight, Alex."

"Mycroft," she called, making him turn back from being about to descend the stairs. "The girl who I fought with. Don't do anything to her. Don't get her expelled or anything."

"Why not?"

"It wasn't all her fault. I hurt her."

He arched an eyebrow, "You don't have any marks on your hands. And I didn't take you for the biting type."

"No, not physically. Just," Alex struggled for the right words. "Just leave it, yeah?"

After a moment, he nodded, making his leave.

"One more thing!"

He turned to her, slightly irritated at being stopped again.

"When I was in Class 2, when Mum was… ill. Like, really ill, and Mrs Duarte phoned Social Services, what did you say to them?" she asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice.

Mycroft regarded her, all irritation gone from his face. Ten painstaking seconds passed.

"Goodnight, Alex."

He had left before she had chance to wish him likewise.

* * *

><p>She awoke early the next morning, and had spent it mostly replaying her and Mycroft's conversation in her mind. There was something in the way he looked when she mentioned Social Services she didn't like. It wasn't until much later she actually got up.<p>

"Hey, John," she said as she walked into the living room.

John looked up at her with surprise from his position in front of the television.

"Good morning, Alex. Bit late isn't it?" he remarked.

"Yeah, well," she flopped down onto the sofa, "I don't have school, so."

John sent her a glance. He had heard all about the bullying incident from Sherlock.

"Well, I suppose one good thing came out of the situation. What are you doing today then?"

"I have no idea."

"Why don't you visit Logan since I am sure that he has bunked off school to see you again," John smiled.

"He's in bloody Cornwall for two weeks," she grumbled and crossed her arms.

"I bet he has good reason to be," John said in amusement.

Alex sighed and nodded, "So what are _you_ up to today?"

John casually switched the channel to a cookery programme as he answered, "Oh well, I thought that I might go and see Sarah."

"You spend all your time with her now, Sherlock and me are beginning to get jealous. Do you even want to live with us anymore?"

John threw a cushion her way. She ducked it with ease and laughed.

"I'm only kidding. You should go round there now and make her breakfast. Make them pancakes that you made for us that time. Pancakes and Lestrawberries."

John shook his head as he recalled that morning and considered Alex's suggestion.

"I might just do that… but who'll stay here with you, though?"

"Sherlock obviously," she replied.

John stared at her for a moment.

"You do know that Sherlock isn't here," he began slowly.

Alex raised her eyebrows and craned her neck around the room.

"Oh yeah… hmm… I get so used to him not replying when he is in his mind palace that I don't even notice him anymore… where is he?" she asked unconcernedly.

"Uh, he left a note," John answered, pointing over to the kitchen table, his eyes glued to the television as he switched it to the news.

Alex rose from her seat and approached the note.

_Case has come up. Gone to Belarus. Be back soon. Don't open the microwave._

Short and sweet. Alex reached up and popped open the microwave door. She wrinkled her nose as a ghastly smell hit her sinuses and she took out a severed tongue.

"Nice Sherlock, classy," she commented sarcastically and replaced the tongue on the plate in the microwave, "John, I would go over there now, you don't want to cook in this kitchen!"

"But what about you, I am pretty sure that it is illegal to leave a fourteen year old on her own for the day," was the reply from the living room.

"Stop stressing! Mrs Hudson is downstairs in case the flat decides to spontaneously combust in your absence."

The silence signalled that John was pondering the fact.

"John, go on."

"I'll be back after tea, don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called as he pulled on his coat and exited the flat. "Don't do anything Sherlock would do."

"But that means no genocide," she mocked with a hand to her heart.

Thankfully, John was out of ear shot by then and Alex just happily sank back into the sofa. Oh yes, things were definitely looking up. The whole flat to herself for a possible twelve hours. She stretched her arms behind her head leisurely.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, RainbowSilenced, Rose Tomlinson, the-goblet-of-deduction, GottaLoveTen, E I Cochrane, and DonnaWatson.<strong>

**Replies have already been sent to you.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby  
><strong>

**X**


	38. The Great Game - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, all rights go to the BBC. I do however, own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Hey! So, here is the beginning of the Great Game! EEK! Super excited for this one!**

**Enjoy-**

_Previously:_

_Thankfully, John was out of ear shot by then and Alex just happily sank back into the sofa. Oh yes, things were definitely looking up. The whole flat to herself for a possible twelve hours. She stretched her arms behind her head leisurely._

**Minsk, Belarus-**

Sherlock sat in an uncomfortable, rigid chair, the plastic jabbing into his back. The air was heavy with frost and the only light was filtering through the windows of the prison. Behind him was a stern looking, plump police officer, complete with hat and tie, sat at his desk supervising the visit. In front, sat a jittering man clad in orange overalls.

Sherlock leant back and restrained a sigh. He had thought that the case was worth his time but as soon as he had stepped foot in the prison, he knew that it was just a simple domestic murder- nothing remotely interesting.

"Just tell me what happened, from the beginning," he ordered in a bored tone, his breath swirling from his lips in wispy puffs.

"We'd been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so ... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?" the man replied in a thick cockney accent as he drummed his fingers on the table top.

Sherlock didn't even try to hide the potent sigh that escaped him.

"She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man-" the man continued.

"Wasn't a real man."

The man frowned at Sherlock in confusion.

"What?"

"It's not 'weren't'; it's 'wasn't'," Sherlock corrected.

"Oh," the man replied, unsure of what to say.

"Go on," Sherlock told him, his attitude obviously screaming the opposite.

"Well, then I dunno how it happened," he said, recovering from Sherlock's correction, "but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast."

"Taught," Sherlock rectified automatically.

"What?"

Sherlock detected the annoyance in his client's voice but couldn't really care less as he carried on.

"_Taught_ you how to cut up a beast."

"Yeah, well, then-then I done it-"

"Did it."

"DID IT!" the man roared, his temper finally breaking, "Stabbed her, over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't-"

Sherlock let out an angry snort.

"_Wasn't_," the man corrected through gritted teeth, "Movin' no more."

Sherlock looked up to the ceiling in exasperation.

"_Any _more_… _You've gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear."

Sherlock pulled himself to his feet, causing the chair to grind across the damp concrete floor, and made to leave.

"You've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!" the man pleaded frantically, desperate to make Sherlock stay, "Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this."

Sherlock stopped and looked over his shoulder to the man.

"No, no, no, Mr Berwick, not at all," Sherlock gazed away in mock thought, "_Hanged, _yes."

Sherlock smiled at the doomed man and left him sat at the empty table.

* * *

><p>Alex was laid on the sofa, her legs dangling lazily over the armrest as she flicked through the pages of her new book. She had picked it up from a merchant ambling around outside and didn't quite know what to make of it. The cover read, <em>Remedy of the Mind<em> and had an odd looking doodle of a wise woman from the Middle Ages bending low over a stewing cauldron whilst being watched secretly by a witchdoctor from the bushes. Alex decided that it was worth her time and flipped to the first page.

_Too bitter was the day to be slaving over a wok, but the sick needed attention. It was springtime and their humours were all over the shot, the blood outwitting the others. It was a simple case of a leech application to the thigh or a blade to a wrist to rid them of the excess blood but-_

A loud bang interrupted Alex from her reading and her head shot up indignantly as Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

"I thought you were supposed to be in Belarus for a few days," she whined.

"I did not specify the amount of time that I would be spending there, however, did I? And why is my early return such a problem?" he arched his eyebrow questioningly as he collapsed into the armchair opposite her.

"No, there's no problem," Alex answered quickly.

In fact, she had been quite looking forward to having some good old fashioned 'me time' but 'Sherlock time' was just as good.

There was no reply from Sherlock as he sulked in his chair.

"So I'm guessing that things weren't that interesting over there?"

His lack of riposte was sufficient enough.

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence as Alex turned back to her book and Sherlock continued to brood.

"Nice try with the marbles under the doormat by the way," he eventually said.

Alex gave a nod of gratitude. She knew that Sherlock wouldn't fall for that one (she had been try to catch him off guard for ten years) but she hoped that he would fall for one of her other pranks.

Sherlock stood up and swiftly left the room, returning soon after in his pyjamas and dressing gown.

"Now we match," Alex grinned, motioning to her spotty pyjamas.

Sherlock ignored her input and allowed his eyes to trace up to the wall.

"You spray painted a smiley face on the wall," he stated bluntly.

Alex looked up at him.

"Good girl."

She giggled and decided to abandon her book in favour of conversing with her uncle. Well, watching her uncle.

He walked over to the top drawer and took out a pistol. Alex already knew what was coming and placed her hands over her ears as a bullet whizzed past her head and embedded itself into the left eye of the smiley face. Alex didn't even flinch as another was shot, causing her hair to ruffle as it hit the right eye.

"Social services would be having a fit if they were here right now," Alex mentioned casually.

"They would be fine with it."

"Oh yes, because I bet they see parental figures shooting bullets inches away from their children every day," Alex said sarcastically.

"Well they have obviously not been in contact with you or they wouldn't blame me," he sneered back and sank into the armchair once more.

Alex rolled her eyes. He was going through the stages of boredom: dramatic entrance, witty greeting, collapse onto furniture, get up from furniture, get changed into sleepwear, shoot wall, get snarky, and collapse back onto furniture. All that was left now was-

"Alex, go and get me some cigarettes."

And there it was.

"Yeah, okay."

Sherlock looked over to her in surprise,

"Really?"

"No," she snorted and picked up her abandoned book.

Sherlock grumbled something about impotent teenagers under his breath and crossed his arms. There was a blissful silence until another shot rang out, this time just clipping the spine of the book that Alex had above her head.

"Hey, I just got that today!"

"And you clearly are more interested in balancing it on your head than actually reading it," Sherlock countered.

Alex sighed in resignation, it was true- the book was tedious. She threw it down once and for all and walked over to Sherlock. She picked up his pistol out of his loose grip and pointed it to the wall before pulling the trigger. The bullet veered off so far to the left that it almost put a hole in the doorframe.

"You're terrible," Sherlock stated.

"Then help me, it'll give you something to do."

Sherlock conceded, seeing her point and rose to stand next to her. He picked up her arm holding the gun and raised it with his towards the smiley face. He used his other hand to push her left shoulder back so that she was stood to the side.

"Breathe in," he ordered, "And as you breathe back out, pull the trigger."

Alex sucked in a breath through her nose and curled her finger down on the trigger. It let out a loud bang as the bullet was released, causing her to jump back reflexively.

"You can't be afraid of the gun. _You_ are in control of it and if you're scared, then you'll shake and your shot will be horrible," Sherlock lectured, "Try again."

Alex composed herself and took aim at the face, her uncle's arm still guiding hers.

"Breathe in…" he said, "Breathe out…"

Alex pressed down onto the catch and watched in awe as the bullet hit the smiley face. It was right on the edge and probably more Sherlock's doing than hers but she was still proud.

"Again?" she asked hopefully, but turned and saw that Sherlock had retreated back to the same bored state in the chair.

Teaching had sufficed him enough for a grand total of three minutes. Alex tossed the pistol back to him carelessly and fell back onto the sofa herself.

A few silent minutes passed before the sound of a clatter and someone swearing sounded from the front door. At the same time, Sherlock aimed another shot on the smile of the face. The deafening bang was followed by frantic footsteps and John burst into the room with his hands protecting his eardrums.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!" he yelled at Sherlock.

"Bored."

"What?" John squinted in disbelief.

"Bored!" Sherlock declared loudly as he sprang to his feet and poised the gun, "Bored! Bored!"

He shot the wall on each syllable.

"Alex, move!" John cried as the girl just sat there as calm as you like whilst a bullet bypassed her ear.

"Don't worry, his aim is awesome," Alex reassured.

John gave her an 'are you serious look' as he advanced towards his flatmate and snatched the pistol from his hand. He slid out the clip and tucked it away safely.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them," Sherlock muttered.

"So you take it out on the wall," John gathered from the kitchen doorway.

"It was technically Alex's fault. She drew the smiley face and I just couldn't resist. Anyway, the wall had it coming."

"Moi?" Alex asked innocently, pointing to herself as she watched the scene unfold with a humorous smile.

Sherlock tapped her lightly on the head, indicating to her to move. She scoffed and shook her head.

"Fair enough," Sherlock murmured as he fell back onto her and laid down.

Alex struggled and moaned against the fabric of his dressing gown and managed to spit out enough of the sleepwear to yell,

"Get off, you oaf!"

Sherlock rolled sideways so that he was against the back of the sofa and used his feet to kick Alex off. She landed with a bump before dusting herself off and going to stand next to John.

"He has a boredom disease, which is apparently a brother to his little git syndrome," she glared at the back of her uncle.

"What about that Russian case?" John asked with an amused smile at Alex's words.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time."

"Ah, shame," John chirped sarcastically as he made his way over to the kitchen, "Anything in? I'm starving."

He opened the fridge but immediately slammed it shut again, taking deep breaths through his nose.

"What's up?" Alex asked.

John slowly opened the fridge door again, revealing a severed head, cut off at the neck.

"Sherlock, the microwave _and _the fridge? Seriously?" Alex groaned.

"It's a head," John uttered softly, "A severed head!"

"Just tea for me, thanks," Sherlock replied disinterestedly.

"No, there's a head in the fridge."

"Yes."

"A bloody head!"

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock asked moodily, "You don't mind, do you?"

A snort from John indicated that he _did _mind. Alex tried to rein in her laughter.

"I got it from Bart's morgue," Sherlock continued, "I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death. I see you've written up the taxi driver case."

"Uh, yes," John replied, shooting once last incredulous look at the fridge.

Alex gasped, "Let me see!"

She ran over and picked up John's laptop to open up his blog.

"What's it called?" she asked.

"'A Study in Pink,'" Sherlock replied with distaste.

"Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?"

Sherlock pretended to contemplate the question.

"Uh, no."

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

"Flattered?" Sherlock repeated, "Alex, read out the third line."

Alex scanned down to the line and read it out loud-

"'Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things,'" she narrated.

"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a-" John tried to defend.

"Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way," Sherlock interrupted dryly, "Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister-"

"I know," John muttered quietly.

"Or who's sleeping with who-"

"Or whether the Earth goes around the sun."

"Oh, not that again. It's not important."

"Not impor- It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?" John asked in bemusement.

"Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it," Sherlock mumbled as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes tiredly.

"'Deleted it'?"

"Oh here we go," Alex muttered.

"Listen," Sherlock sat up to face John, "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

John pressed his lips together to swallow the retort but he couldn't contain it,

"But it's the _solar system_!"

Sherlock groaned and smothered his face in his hands,

"Oh, hell! What does that matter?! So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still; stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

And with that, Sherlock dived to face the back of the sofa and curled up into a tight ball, his whole body radiating petulance. Alex scowled at him for insulting John and threw a particularly sharp pencil at his back- to which he did not react.

John glared whilst throwing on his coat and heading to the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked over his shoulder.

"Out. I need some air," John replied tightly and bypassed Mrs Hudson on the stairs.

The elderly lady smiled briefly at him and entered the living room.

"Ooh-ooh!" she called in her signature greeting as she knocked.

Sherlock lifted his head enough to acknowledge her existence before burrowing back into the pillows. Alex waved at the lady.

"Have you two had a little domestic?" she asked knowingly, "You two shouldn't fight in front of Alex, you know. It isn't good for children to see the parents arguing."

Alex hid her grin behind her hand as Sherlock stood up. He ignored the comment and stepped over the coffee table to stand at the window and watch John leave.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more," Mrs Hudson fretted, referring to John.

"Look at that, Mrs Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful," he grimaced, "Isn't it hateful?"

"Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up."

"Or a good slap in the mouth, might turn your scowl upside down," Alex added, still irked at him for upsetting John.

Mrs Hudson had just turned to leave when she finally spotted the wall.

"Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?! I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" she announced angrily and proceeded down the stairs.

Sherlock and Alex looked to each other; Alex reluctantly returned her uncle's grin.

"She still thinks-"

An ear-splitting boom cut off her sentence, as the windows of 221B splintered and both Alex and Sherlock were projected forward.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, rycbar15,<strong> **Rose Tomlinson,** **Loveinfinity,** **GottaLoveTen,** **E.I Cochrane,** **DonnaWatson,** **Kells-Bells34,** **fmxc17, ** **jokerharley1980, and Revella for reviewing!**

**Thanks again to all of you! I won't be able to update probably until Monday because I am heading off down South for the weekend with Emmy (if you have read my profile, you will know who that is). I also need to know what your opinions are on whether or not Alex should like Irene/ how she would react. Scandal in Belgravia is coming soon and I need to plan ahead so if you could review your opinions on the matter because I am a bit stuck.**

**Please Review**

**-Abby**

**X**


	39. The Great Game - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to it. All rights go to the BBC. I do own Alex though :)**

**Author's Note: Hey, I'm back. Emmy and I arrived back today and we had an awesome weekend! Here is the next instalment of the Great Game, which I had a lot of fun writing!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously-_

_"Or a good slap in the mouth, might turn your scowl upside down," Alex taunted, still irked at him for upsetting John._

_Mrs Hudson had just turned to leave when she finally spotted the wall._

_"Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?! I'm putting this on your rent, young man!" she announced angrily and proceeded down the stairs._

_Sherlock and Alex looked to each other; Alex reluctantly returned her Uncle's grin._

_"She still thinks-"_

_An ear-splitting boom cut off her sentence, as the windows of 221B splintered and both Alex and Sherlock were projected forward._

Alex's head was spinning. She groaned and attempted to pull herself up from the floor, when she found that she was wedged beneath the wooden window frame that had been hurled forward from the explosion. She let out a low whine and tried to look around for Sherlock, but her vision was blocked by the fabric of the upturned sofa.

"Alex!" she heard her uncle shout.

"Here."

There was a rummaging of debris as Sherlock appeared in front of her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Alex nodded her head and motioned to the plank weighing her down. Sherlock immediately took the hint and lifted the weight up effortlessly, allowing Alex to scramble out from underneath it. As soon as she stood upright she attached herself to Sherlock's side. His hand automatically went to her back in a reassuring manner.

"What the hell was that?" she asked shakily.

"Probably a gas leak or something similar: nothing to worry about now."

Alex nodded and broke away. She looked around the paper strewn and chaotic room.

"You take the left side and I take the right side?" she suggested, staring forlornly down at the mess.

Sherlock sighed and nodded.

* * *

><p>John stretched with a grimace and groaned as he bent down to tie his shoelace the next morning, having stayed the night at Sarah's on the sofa. Just as he was finished fiddling with his shoe, Sarah entered the room wearing a satin, baby blue dressing gown.<p>

"Morning!" she chirped.

"Oh, mor-" he was cut off as he turned around due to his aching neck flaring up in pain, "Morning."

"See? Told you that you should've gone with the lilo."

"No, no, no, it's fine. I-I slept fine. It's very kind of you."

Sarah rummaged around behind him as he thanked her and managed to spot what she was looking for. She reached down behind his back and produced the television remote. John smiled at her somewhat sheepishly for lying on her remote controller.

"Well, maybe next time I'll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know," she mentioned suggestively as she perched on the armrest.

"What about the time after that?"

Sarah looked to him and grinned briefly before turning back to the screen.

"So, do you want some breakfast?" she asked as she threw the remote back down onto the sofa.

"Love some."

"Yeah, well you'd better make it yourself, 'cause I'm gonna have a shower," she smirked and stalked off to the bathroom.

John chortled silently to himself at his girlfriend's sassiness and continued to do up his buttons on his shirt, all the while listening to the news half-heartedly. It wasn't until it reached the main story that he properly listened.

_"There's been a massive explosion in central London-"_

John perked up from his shirt and his face flooded with horror as the screen filled with the scene of the rubble filled street and police officers cornering off John's home.

_"As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement."_

John jumped to his feet like lightening and swung his coat around his shoulders as he advanced towards the front door.

"Sarah! Sarah! I've got to run!" he called and did just that.

* * *

><p>Five painstakingly long minutes later, John's taxi pulled up at Baker Street and he dived out, almost forgetting to pay. He rounded the corner and almost stopped in shock. A crowd of gawking onlookers nosed around in a preying circle next to a fire engine and John weaved his way through them.<p>

"Excuse me, can I get through? Excuse me," he muttered to the horde of people as he pushed past them.

He approached a bald police officer trying to contain the crowd.

"Can I go through?" he asked, pointing to 221B. "I live there."

The policeman nodded and John got further forward to assess the damage. He avoided the bricks and shrapnel that coated the floor and had to hop over numerous red fire hoses that trailed along the road waiting to be rolled back up and tucked away. John stared up in shock at the house opposite 221B that had borne the brunt of the explosion. The whole two floors had been completely demolished, the charcoaled rooms exposed to the air.

John's jaw dropped as he turned and jogged up towards his home. He was immediately pursued and stopped by a police officer.

"I live over there," John explained.

The intercepting hand withdrew and John advanced up the stairs to the flat.

"Sherlock! Alex!" he called from the doorway.

He entered the room to see Sherlock sat in his armchair, glaring daggers at the other chair. John walked in further and saw the reason behind the glaring. Mycroft sat in the opposite chair, Alex perched on the armrest next to him.

"John," Sherlock greeted as he plucked at his violin.

Alex waved and Mycroft merely glanced at the new arrival.

"I saw it on the telly. Are you two okay?" John asked.

"Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently."

"I got pinned down by a falling window!" Alex exclaimed theatrically.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You were trapped by a piece of the frame, drama queen," Sherlock then turned to his brother, "We can't."

"'Can't'?" Mycroft repeated with a raised eyebrow.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

Both Alex and John looked to him in disbelief.

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asked innocently, the implied insult clear in his voice.

"_Fine. _Your turn Alex."

Alex looked at Sherlock warily, trying to read what he was playing at; she didn't want to give his game away.

"Well… the case that we have on now… is important to us so I'm with Sherlock on this one," she said slowly as she formulated her words carefully, "Anyway, I don't want to go hunting for some stupid files when there's a delightfully interesting case on right now."

Mycroft sighed and turned to John as Sherlock gave Alex a subtle wink.

"Fine. Perhaps _you_ can get through to him, John."

John spun around as his name was mentioned from where he was tracing the damaged window with his finger.

"What?"

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent."

Alex swatted her uncle on the shoulder, "Will you to just be civil to one another, please!"

"If you're so keen, why don't_ you_ investigate it?" Sherlock snipped as he leant back further in the chair.

"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so-" he deliberately stopped himself and paused for effect as all heads rose to him, "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?"

"Besides, a case like this – it requires…" Mycroft's face distorted in displeasure, "legwork."

Sherlock's finger slipped off the string, making a terrible twanging sound.

"How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa," Mycroft corrected superiorly as he checked his silver pocket watch.

Sherlock looked John up and down.

"Oh yes, of course."

"_How_," John began but dropped it at the slight shake of Alex's head.

Having them both explain themselves would probably have more dire consequences than World War Three.

John sat down on the coffee table.

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals."

Sherlock sent his brother a dark look, causing Alex to send him a warning one. She had been playing mediator between the two since she could talk.

"What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine," Mycroft continued to John.

"I'm never bored."

"Good! That's good, isn't it?" Mycroft condescended and Alex just gave up trying to keep the peace. There was no point when insults were flying around faster than planes at Heathrow.

Mycroft brought himself to his feet as Sherlock plucked up his bow and whipped one end through the air in front of him like a jousting stick. Picking up a folder which he had put on the table beside him, Mycroft stepped forward and offered the folder to his brother but Sherlock just looked back at him stubbornly. Grimacing and poking his tongue into the corner of his mouth, Mycroft turned and (as he knew that he would eventually have to) offered the folder to John instead.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends," Mycroft began, looking directly at John.

John himself seemed quite flustered that the case seemed to have been handed to him but took the folder nonetheless.

"A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in."

"Jumped in front of a train?" John assumed.

"Seems the logical assumption," Mycroft nodded.

"But ...?" John prompted, his lips quirking up into a smile.

"'but'?"

"Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident."

Sherlock snorted in amusement and Alex had a hard time keeping the grin off her face. It wouldn't do for Uncle Mycroft to berate her for becoming a mini Sherlock. Again.

Mycroft now stepped back, addressing the room instead of just John and Alex found herself resting her elbows on her knees and listening raptly, her Uncle always had a voice that made you interested in what he was saying. It had been the same since Alex was a young girl.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

"That wasn't very clever," John commented.

Sherlock smirked in agreement along with Alex. She couldn't help but love John's witty remarks.

"It's not the only copy," Mycroft said.

"Oh."

"But it _is_ secret. And missing."

"Top secret?"

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Sherlock breathed in heavily and positioned his violin snugly on his shoulder.

"I'd like to see you try," he said calmly, obviously egging his brother on.

Alex felt it her time to intervene.

"Alright, you two. Enough's enough. Sherlock would be delighted to take the case of the missing Bruce Partington Plans and the smashed in M.O.D, Westie was it? Oh don't look like that! If it wasn't for the case that we have on now, we would jump at the chance but since we are otherwise engaged, it would seem that we will have to politely decline your offer. Good day, Uncle and I hope you have a safe journey home," there was no doubt of the message underlying in her words.

Mycroft bristled at his niece's tone but took heed. Not before leaning close to Sherlock's face and saying,

"Think it over."

He then walked over to John (who was gawping at Alex) and shook his hand.

"Goodbye, John. See you very soon."

Finally, after a brief and somewhat insincere smile to Alex, he left. Only when she heard the slam of the door, did Alex feel safe to say,

"Bloody hell, what's wrong with _him _today."

"I thought that was what he was like every day," John commented before turning to Sherlock, "And you, why'd you lie?"

Sherlock looked over innocently, apparently 'ignorant' towards his earlier actions.

"You have got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?" John elaborated at Sherlock's annoying blank look.

"Why shouldn't I?" he shrugged.

"Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere."

Sherlock's mouth opened, no doubt to spout some indignant denial, but was cut off by Alex.

"This is what I have had to put up with since I can remember, John. They used to compete for my affection and were both convinced that _they _were the favourite uncle. I remember very distinctly a certain trip to _Toys 'R' Us _when I was four," she looked pointedly at Sherlock, "You both nearly had to take out a mortgage to pay for the stuff that you bought me!" Alex exclaimed, "And I told you that I wouldn't play with it but Mycroft had just gotten me that rocking horse and you were determined to buy me that creepy talking mirror."

"You liked it in the end!" Sherlock defended.

"Only when you came around. As soon as you left, I burst into tears and had to run to the kitchen while Mum put it back in the loft!"

"I'm still the favourite, though."

Alex sighed, "And how did you figure that one out?"

"Well you do live with me and spend every single hour with me," Sherlock said with a smug smile.

"Hey, whoever I live with doesn't mean that I love them anymore. The same thing happened when I lived with Uncle Mycroft. The only reason that I am here not there, is because you have more time on your hands to look after me so Uncle Mycroft doesn't feel so guilty. Anyway, I sat with Uncle Mycroft just now and not you. By your logic, does that mean that I suddenly have a vendetta against you and have joined a club with Uncle Mycroft to lynch you?" Alex mocked, causing John to chuckle.

"Shut up."

Alex grinned and slid onto the sofa smugly.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock's phone began to ring. He fished around in his inside blazer pocket and took the mobile out. He tapped _accept call_ and a beep sounded as he was put through to the caller.

"Sherlock Holmes."

Alex leant forward and strained her ears to try and hear who was on the phone but Sherlock had it pressed to closely to his head. Instead, she took to reading her Uncle's features. She wasn't disappointed.

Sherlock's face immediately brightened up and a gleeful twinkle in his eye could only mean one thing. Case.

"Of course. How could I refuse?"

That was all the evidence Alex needed as she wormed her feet into her too-small-but-can't-be-bothered-to-change-them-because-they-look-nice-and-I-am-chronically-lazy shoes. John sent her a questioning look, to which she just motioned for him to listen to Sherlock.

Sherlock ended the call and stored his phone away inside his blazer pocket as he spun on his heel and deposited the violin in the chair while buttoning up his jacket.

"Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" he asked as he headed for the door.

"If you want me to."

"Of course," he said as he picked up his coat and allowed Alex to go down the stairs before him, "I would be lost without my blogger."

Alex turned to him with an affronted look on her face.

"Or you," Sherlock muttered and cuffed her lightly over the back of her head to make her keep moving.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note- So there we go. I don't really have much to say in this note. Um, the next chapter should be up tomorrow hopefully and I hope that you all liked it :)<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: Rose Tomlinson,** **emilybrock101,** **loveinfinity, Xin0Lan, simplemusings12, jokerharley1980, GottaLoveTen, rycbar15, fmxc17, Fiihox,** **Sapphire lota, and DonnaWatson for reviewing!**

**Replies have already been sent to you.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please Review**

**Abby**

**X**


	40. The Great Game - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Thought I'd give you an extra chapter tonight because I won't be able to update tomorrow. That's why it's a little short because I've just finished writing the one before it when I started this one (and it's late and I can no longer read properly)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_That was all the evidence Alex needed as she wormed her feet into her too-small-but-can't-be-bothered-to-change-them-because-they-look-nice-and-I-am-chronically-lazy shoes. John sent her a questioning look, to which she just motioned for him to listen to Sherlock._

_Sherlock ended the call and stored his phone away inside his blazer pocket as he spun on his heel and deposited the violin in the chair while buttoning up his jacket._

_"Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?" he asked as he headed for the door._

_"If you want me to."_

_"Of course," he said as he picked up his coat and allowed Alex to go down the stairs before him, "I would be lost without my blogger."_

_Alex turned to him with an affronted look on her face._

_"Or you," Sherlock muttered and cuffed her lightly over the back of her head to make her keep moving._

Alex moaned and almost smashed her head against the wall as John tried for the fifth time to tell the woman behind the desk who they were.

"Look, I have already told you: my name is John Watson, this is Alessandra Holmes and her uncle is- wait, Alex, where is your uncle?"

Alex pointed to the double doors that led through into the offices of Scotland Yard.

"Urgh, why does he always bugger off and leave us to deal with the paperwork?" he groaned.

Alex shrugged and stood up on her tiptoes to the desk. She produced a lanyard that she kept at an angle so that John couldn't read it and showed it to the receptionist. She immediately paled.

"Go on through, Miss Holmes. Don't worry about the administration, I'll see to that," she fumbled.

Alex nodded her head and took John by the arm to follow her uncle.

"How the bloody hell did you do that?" John asked in amazement.

The girl plucked out the lanyard from its hiding place in her jumper and grinned as John read it-

_Ultimate clearance…_

_British Intelligence…_

_Her Majesty's Diplomatic Service…_

"Uncle Mycroft needs to keep a closer eye on his employees. It says that I'm part of a new programme and they needed someone who wouldn't attract attention. And with my name being Holmes..." Alex laughed and stored the cord away once more before catching up to Sherlock, an incredulous John following in her wake.

"Hey, Lestrade," Alex greeted with a smile that was mirrored by him.

"Hello, Alex."

"Can we skip the pleasantries please and get straight to the facts, it's horribly dull," Sherlock interrupted, glaring at a phone for ringing.

Lestrade rolled his eyes but turned and motioned for the trio to follow him into his office.

"You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

"Obviously."

"Well you are going to _love_ this. That explosion-"

"Gas leak yes?"

"No."

"No?" both Alex and Sherlock frowned at the same time.

"No. Made to _look_ like one," Lestrade informed them.

"What?" John asked, just as confused as the others.

"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box and inside it was this," the inspector gestured to a white envelope that lay on his desk.

Alex peered over to it and felt a clenching in her stomach; she didn't like this one bit.

"You haven't opened it?" Sherlock questioned without taking his eyes off the envelope.

"It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring," Sherlock muttered sarcastically as he bent down to pick up the envelope from the desk.

Alex resisted the urge to run over and slap it out of his hands as he walked over to the desk light in the corner of the room and held it under for inspection. His eyes raked over the fancy handwriting that painted _Sherlock Holmes_ across the middle.

"Nice stationery," he commented, "Bohemian."

"What?" Alex asked as she snapped back from her glaring at the envelope.

"From the Czech Republic," her Uncle replied before turning to Lestrade, "No fingerprints?"

"No."

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold – iridium nib."

""She"?"

"Obviously."

"Obviously," the refrained sigh distinct in John's tiresome voice.

"Alex grab me that letter opener," Sherlock ordered, his eyes still fixed on the object in his gloved hands.

Alex picked up the blade from atop the filing cabinet and handed it to her Uncle. He gently sawed in tiny strokes across the paper, carefully slitting it open. He prised open the gap and Alex watched as his mouth opened slightly in surprise. It took quite something to surprise Sherlock.

"What is it?" she asked seriously.

He didn't answer, just reached in and retrieved a pink iPhone.

"But that's – that's the phone, the pink phone," John said in disbelief.

"What, from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asked and Alex cringed.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like-" he suddenly stopped as he realised what Lestrade had just said, "The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"

"'Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?"

Alex shook her head and motioned for him to shut up but he didn't see her. Sally Donovan took that opportunity to snort and snigger at Sherlock's expense before leaving the office with files in her hand. Alex shook her head, that Donovan wasn't getting away with that and Alex followed her out.

"I don't know what you're laughing about Donovan, you're the first person to come running to us when you can't figure out what's happening on your own doorstep. Maybe you should stick to the Primary School," Alex mocked, ignoring John's warning glare through the doorway.

"You're the child around here, freak. You shouldn't be allowed anywhere near here anyway."

Alex tensed at the word _freak _but was determined not to let it show as she ploughed on.

"Just stop, okay? Stop whatever vendetta you have against my family because they're smarter than you and Sherlock can solve a case that would take you a month in a minute. Feel inferior? You should," Alex snarled.

"Oh don't pretend to be all smart just because your second name is Holmes. You're a kid. A messed up one at that."

"I'm not the one who's messed up, Donovan."

"Really? 'Cause I don't know many kids who do their homework in a morgue and spent most of their childhood nights asleep in the back of a police car. Is this really what your mum would have wanted for you?"

"You don't know anything about her. Neither you nor Anderson know what you're talking about."

"We read the reports–"

"The reports don't tell you anything about her," Alex snapped. "Don't talk about her again."

Alex turned and regressed back into Lestrade's office, leaving a frowning Donavon stood behind. Alex felt John's eyes on her but ignore him and focussed on Sherlock (who hadn't even noticed that she had left, he was so wrapped up in the case).

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new," he continued as he pressed his face closer to examine the surface, "Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it _look_ like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership."

He shot John a filthy look as he said this and tapped the phone.

"_You have one new message," _a mechanical voice droned.

There was a series of four short pips and one long pip emitted from the mobile device. Alex tried to push away Donovan's words and concentrate.

"Is that it?" John asked.

"No. That's _not_ it."

There was a whooshing sound indicating a text alert and Sherlock brought up on the screen a photograph of an empty room with a fireplace set at the back, clearly not lived in.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"It's a warning…" Sherlock mumbled as he gazed at the wall thoughtfully, his eyes darting from side to side as the cogs in his mind turned.

"A warning?"

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again…" he brandished the phone and shook it as he turned to exit the room, "And I have seen this place before."

"Hang on. What's gonna happen again?" Alex asked as she followed Sherlock out.

Her uncle (never to miss an opportunity to be dramatic) raised his hands and bellowed,

"_BOOM!"_

Lestrade and John scrambled to get their coats and jogged to catch up to the detective but Alex hung back for a moment and looked over at Donovan. The woman had gone back to her desk, talking animatedly on the telephone that laid beside her and scribbling down notes. Alex bit her lip. Surely Sally couldn't be right, could she? Her mum would be proud of how she was living her life.

_She obviously didn't care about it enough to stick around, anyway, _a voice said in the back of her mind.

Alex hated that voice. That was the voice that always seemed to ruin everything. It was that voice that told her that Sherlock didn't want her anymore when she was a child. It was the voice that kept whispering Laura's name over and over. It was _that _voice that was becoming more and more frequent… and that meant that something big was coming, something that would rock Alex's world to its foundations and she was sure that it had something to do with a certain man who kept cropping up at every turn-

"Alex! Are you coming or not? If you're not down these stairs in ten seconds, we're going without you!" Sherlock warned from the reception doorway.

Alex shook her head to clear her thoughts and picked up her knees to get down to Sherlock. She sandwiched herself between him and John and suddenly felt very safe. Whatever hell that _the voice_ was talking about, she knew that she wouldn't be facing it alone.

**Author's Note: Hey! Thanks for reading. At the end there, I wanted to get in how dependant and reliant Alex is on both Sherlock ****_and _****John at this point in her life aand how she is still affected by what happened with her mother.**

**HUGE**** thank you to:** **E.I Cochrane, rycbar15, emilybrock101, DonnaWatson**, **Dark Side of the Bright Side,** **jokerharley1980,** **loveinfinity,** **Rose Tomlinson, and fmxc17 for reviewing!**

**Replies have already been sent to you.**

**So, a lot of wonderings about Moriarty being Alex father eh? ... Well all I can say is the father will be revealed after A Scandal in Belgravia :)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	41. The Great Game - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! Once again thanks for the support, guys!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously: _

_"Alex! Are you coming or not? If you are not down these stairs in ten seconds, we are going without you!" Sherlock warned from the reception doorway. _

_Alex shook her head to clear her thoughts and picked up her knees to get down to Sherlock. She sandwiched herself between him and John and suddenly felt very safe. _

The taxi pulled up and mounted the curb outside 221B, allowing Sherlock, John, Lestrade and Alex to climb out and enter the flat. Instead of going upstairs to their flat however, Sherlock led the way down to 221C instead down in the basement. Sherlock went straight over to the worn looking padlock hanging from the door and turned it over and over in his hands.

"MRS HUDSON!" Sherlock yelled, causing Alex to flinch at his loudness.

The old woman came bustling out of 221A.

"What can I help you with, dear? Is it one of your little cases?" she asked pleasantly.

"I need you to get me the key for 221C immediately."

The woman nodded and retreated back to her flat.

"So what do you think is in here? The bomber?" Alex asked.

"No. He wouldn't give himself away like that. Someone who is going to such extremes and putting so much effort in wouldn't just let themselves be found," Sherlock told her.

By this time, Mrs Hudson had returned with a bunch of jangling keys in her hand. Sherlock took the appropriate key and slotted it in to unlock the door.

"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat and when Alex was at that boy Logan's house, I remember," Mrs Hudson said.

"The door's been opened recently…"

"No, can't be, that's the only key."

"And where do you keep the key?" Alex asked suddenly.

"By my bedside," Mrs Hudson replied.

Alex felt physically sick and her hate for the bomber tripled. She could tell Sherlock was feeling the same way.

Sherlock managed to twist off the padlock and unlocked the door with another key.

"I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements," the door opened and the four went in, "I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls…" she was cut off by the door shutting in her face.

It opened again just a crack and Alex kissed Mrs Hudson on the cheek.

"Thanks," she smiled.

The elderly woman gave returned her smile and patted Alex on the head before turning back to go to 221A, muttering about how lucky she was to have such a lovely tenant. Alex closed the door quietly and stepped back into the room. She started however, when she saw what was on the floor.

"Shoes," John pointed out (very helpfully).

Indeed, a pair of trainers were placed neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door in the empty room. The wallpaper was peeling like the skin of an onion and only an eerie looking mirror stood in the corner of the room.

Sherlock began to walk towards the shoes, but was stopped by John and Alex's hands on his arms.

"He is a bomber remember," John cautioned.

Sherlock weaved out of the grasp and slowly walked over to the shoes, his long coat wafting dramatically.

"Be careful, Sherlock," Alex mumbled as she felt Lestrade's arm pull her ever so slightly behind him, as if his body alone would protect her from a bomb. Ah well, it was the thought that counted.

Sherlock crouched down to the footwear and just as his face got close up to them; a phone rang, causing everyone to jump and their hearts to race. Sherlock straightened up, took off his gloves and retrieved the pink ringing iPhone from his pocket. He paused momentarily as he gazed at the Caller ID.

_Blocked_

Alex looked to her Uncle warily as he tapped the phone onto loudspeaker and accepted the call.

"Hello?" he asked softly.

"H-hello ... sexy," a tearful female voice answered.

Alex frowned.

"Who's this?" Sherlock demanded.

"I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi."

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"

"I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing ..." the woman sobbed in terror, "and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out."

Sherlock's head rose in recognition, his features echoing deep thought.

"The curtain rises…" he breathed.

Alex felt a sinking feeling inside of her. Her suspicions had been right.

"What?" John asked, oblivious to the bombshell that was about to fall.

"Nothing."

"No, what did you mean?"

"I've been expecting this for some time… and I think so have you," Sherlock turned his gaze to Alex.

She kept her head bowed submissively.

"Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock ... or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty."

The call ended and Sherlock stored the phone away in his pocket.

"What do we do-" Alex stopped short as she felt her new mobile vibrate in her pocket.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as she left the room and hopped back up the stairs to the flat.

"Hello?" she answered as she slid across the accept button.

"_Hey! How are you?_" the unmistakeable voice of Logan floated through the phone.

"I'm, uh," she shook her head, unable to concentrate. "Listen, can I call you back, I'm in the middle of something."

"_I have honestly never been so bored in all of my life and I'm not exaggerating."_

"Yeah well if you haven't shot a wall yet, you don't know what boredom is," she said distractedly. "So can you–"

"_I don't even know what to say to that," _he interrupted, making Alex grind her teeth in annoyance._ "Anyway, I wish that this was just a social call, but I was wondering if you could do something for me."_

"Right, can it wait because–"

"_Would you be able to go over to mine and check to see if my debit card is still in my wallet? I left it by accident and I'm stressing out over it."_

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll go round there tomorrow but I really have to go."

_"No, go around my house now and see."_

"It will be there, just chill out. Look, forget about it and enjoy your holiday. Bye!" she rushed out, trying to get rid of him.

_"No wait! I need you to go now, Alex. It's important, please!"_

"What's the big deal, you know it'll be there. Look, I'm busy. Bye."

_"NO!"_

Alex flinched and held the phone away from her ear in fright. Logan had never raised his voice like that before.

"Don't talk to me like that," Alex said, affronted.

_"Go to my house and get my wallet, Alex!"_

"No because, as I told you, I'm busy with a bomber, which is more important than whether or not your debit card is missing."

_"Listen to me!"_

"Oh, piss off, Logan."

_"They don't need you, you know. They could solve it in just the same amount of time whether you are there or not. You know that. So don't give me all that about being busy and all-important. You stand and watch, Alex, which doesn't count for anything."_

Alex laughed wryly, "Thanks, Logan, thanks a lot."

_"Please just go to my place… Alex?"_

"Fine. But don't think about ringing me again while you're over there, you've obviously got an issue with something and I won't have you taking it out on me."

She ended the call before he could reply and set off out of the door and down the street. It was only a ten minute walk away.

As she rounded the corner, Logan's house came into view. Logan had lived in many houses since the two of them became friends when Alex was three and Logan was five. He had first lived on the outskirts of London and had to travel quite far every day to get to nursery, (and then later) to get to Primary School. He then moved when he was six a little bit closer and moved closer and closer another nine times before they were finally close enough to walk.

It was always Alex's that they went to to play, however. She reckoned that with Logan's sisters, he didn't get much privacy so coming to Alex's was a welcome break. Alex didn't exactly get on with his sisters either. Neither did Logan come to mention it. Whenever she had asked to come around his house, he would always say that she wasn't able to because it was messy and unorganized because they were just moving in. But as soon as they had unpacked and redecorated _that _house, they moved again and had to start all over. Alex secretly thought that the excuse was a ploy to keep the siblings from arguing.

Alex took the hair pin from its position on her sleeve and slid it into the lock. She wiggled it around and smiled when she heard a satisfying click and the door easily opened. Alex was so experienced at it, it just seemed like she was using an ordinary key and she looked a little bit like Logan's elder sister Shannon so she would just pass as one of the teens that lived there.

She pushed open the door and stepped in, almost slipping when her foot snagged on the pile of slippery letters that had accumulated whilst the family had been on holiday. Alex bent down and scooped up the letters into an orderly pile before leaving them on the cabinet in the hallway. One specific letter caught Alex's eye though, it read-

_Miss B Baxter_

at the top (referring to Bethany, one of the middle children aged seventeen). There was nothing unordinary about that, it was the name of the sender at the bottom-

Alex nose wrinkled in distaste, what were the Baxter sisters getting up to? That was disgusting. Alex filed that particular letter at the bottom of the pile and proceeded upstairs to Logan's room. She had never actually been in, but knew that it was his from the sketch of him on the front of his door (drawn by his sister Helen, no doubt).

All four of Logan's sisters were horrible. Alex and Logan had created a hierarchy of their idiocy:

_1.__Shannon _-

She was the eldest and thought that she reigned supreme over all of her siblings.

_2.__Bethany-_

She thought that she was hilarious and completely loved herself. She couldn't go two minutes without looking at herself in the mirror and pretending that she had won an Oscar.

_3.__Chantelle-_

She was a complete princess, or at least in her eyes. She constantly preened herself and messed around with different hair and makeup products. One day her eyes would be blue, the next rainbow with shimmering sparkles. You needed sunglasses to look at her face and an epilepsy warning before she entered a room.

_4.__Helen-_

Out of all of the siblings, Helen was the one that Logan and Alex could mostly tolerate. She was a stereotypical Goth. She dyed her hair black with purple tips and wore the dark makeup and wrote sad songs. She mostly kept herself to herself and never really talked that much. Alex had nothing against Helen, in fact, she quite enjoyed some of the songs that she wrote and admired her for daring to be different (not that Helen acknowledged any of that).

In all, Alex did not get on with Logan's sisters since Helen couldn't hold a conversation for two seconds before going off to her room where 'life still had meaning'. Still, she thought it must have been nice to have a sibling to talk to when the adults weren't around.

Alex pushed away the insane wave of envy and concentrated on her task. However, as she reached out to open Logan's bedroom door, her phone rang.

"Hello?"

_"Hey! It's me. It is fine, I have found my wallet here, I must have packed it!"_

Logan's voice was back to its normal, jokey tone. There was no trace of the earlier argument.

"Okay, fine, great. Well done. Bye."

_" I'm really sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have shouted but… I'm missing you and that just added to the stress of losing my wallet. I am really sorry, am I forgiven?"_

Alex retracted her hand from Logan's bedroom and turned to walk back down the stairs, "Look, just enjoy Cornwall. I'll see you when you get back."

Alex ended the call and she listened to music until her battery died on the way back to 221B. She sighed at her now blank screen and pocketed it sullenly as she went up to her flat. She opened the door and threw her phone on the sofa before flopping down into the armchair. It was then that she raised her head. It was then that she looked to the wall. It was then that she saw the mirror. It was then that she saw the writing-

_Hello, my beautiful baby Holmes x_

Alex's blood ran cold as all of her limbs stiffened. She reached for her phone, never taking her eyes off the writing and tried to type in Sherlock's number, but she was only greeted by a black screen. She cursed. Wait- they were still down in 221C weren't they? Sherlock, Lestrade and John needed to take samples of the area for fingerprints etc.

"SHERLOCK!" she screamed, her eyes now darting around for the intruder that had written the words in fancy looped writing and terror clear in her quaking voice.

The thundering of footsteps was soon heard and the door was thrust open, slamming off the wall. As soon as Alex saw the three stricken men, she felt it safe to hop over the back of the chair and stand at Sherlock's side.

"What's happened?" Sherlock asked as he peered down at her face and held her shoulders.

Alex just pointed to the mirror and felt the tightness in Sherlock's arms triple.

"Oh my God…" John breathed.

Lestrade took out his gun from his coat pocket as Sherlock did his and Alex was handed over to John as Sherlock scouted around the flat with Lestrade, both of their guns poised.

"Are you okay? Did you see who was in here?" John asked.

Alex tried to reply but her throat was scratchy so she settled for a shake of her head. She hadn't seen anyone.

Sherlock looked over to Lestrade as they entered the kitchen and the exchanged defeated glances- there was no-one in the flat but them. Storing their weapons back in their pockets, they came back over to the living room and Sherlock headed straight over to the mirror. Lestrade put a hand on Alex's shoulder.

"You look really pale, do you want a glass of water?" he asked.

Alex shook her head once more. She was completely terrified. Before, the cases had all consisted of her helping Sherlock and not taking centre stage so to speak. The case with the lithium had never really been hers. But now, the spotlight, the _danger_ was on her, not Sherlock and she was petrified.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: fmxc17, emilybrock101, Rose Tomlinson, RainbowSilenced, the-goblet-of-deduction, jokerharley1980, Guest, Xin0Lan, mary, and E I Cochrane for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies have already been sent to you!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**x**


	42. The Great Game - Part 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Edited 6/8/14**

_Previously:_

_Alex shook her head once more. She was completely terrified. Before, the cases had all consisted of her helping Sherlock and not taking centre stage so to speak. Now, the spotlight, the danger was on her not Sherlock and she was petrified. People could call her a coward but that was how she felt. Someone was out for her blood and this person was bloody good. Alex remembered the words that Sherlock had spoken to her a couple of months ago,_

_"You have to understand that there are people out there that will use you to get to me. Serious People. I need you to at least have a chance if God forbid any of them decide to go after you."_

_It seemed that that day had come._

Lestrade and John had retreated from the room to check the front door and outside the flat and Sherlock was texting Mycroft.

**Break in at Baker Street. Check CCTV. Alex has been threatened. I have it under control- SH**

The reply was instant.

**I have my men onto it now but it seems that there was a blackout period. Keep an eye on her. Have you changed your mind about the Bruce Partington plans yet? – MH**

Sherlock ignored the pointless question (of course he hadn't) and pocketed away his mobile before turning to Alex. She still stood in the doorway, pale as a sheet. Sherlock walked over to her and immediately wrapped his arms around her.

"I will look after you, I promise. You will just stick with me and you will be fine. No one is going to hurt you, okay?"

Alex nodded weakly.

"So what do we do now? Bart's?" she sniffed.

Sherlock grinned at her and nodded as he took her arm.

* * *

><p>Alex was laid across two stools in the lab at St Bartholomew's hospital when Sherlock re-entered from his escapades in the room opposite. He had a thoughtful look plastered onto his face as he carried back the trainers and placed them on the table. He then proceeded to take a sample and examine it underneath the microscope.<p>

"What are you doing?" he suddenly asked Alex.

"Trying to go to sleep," she replied as she wriggled on the hard plastic chairs.

"It is only five o'clock."

"I can sleep whenever I want to sleep! There isn't a law that states exactly what time people are to have a nap."

Sherlock was silent once more as he stared back into the microscope until he broke the quiet by saying,

"Is that comfortable?"

Alex sighed as her hip slipped down the gap between the chairs again and she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

"No," she conceded as she stood to her feet, "I don't even feel tired."

"Then why were you trying to sleep?" Sherlock frowned, what peculiar behaviour!

Alex shrugged, "I don't know, something to do. There is nothing to be done until we get these tests back anyway."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Sherlock smirked as John came through the double doors.

John sat down opposite the pair.

"So, who do you suppose it was?" he asked.

At the same time, Sherlock's phone trilled.

"Hm?" Sherlock replied, completely blanking the beep.

"The woman on the phone – the crying woman."

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there."

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads!" John moaned exasperatedly.

"You're not going to be much use to her."

"Are-are they _trying_ to trace it, trace the call?"

"The bomber's too smart for that," Sherlock brushed off as his phone dinged for a second time, "Pass me my phone."

"Where is it?" John asked, looking around the room for the object he was being ordered to receive.

"Jacket."

Alex stifled a laugh as John stiffened and his features echoed livid disbelief. He rigidly marched over to Sherlock and slammed a hand down onto his shoulder before rifling roughly through his inside pocket.

"Careful!" Sherlock snapped angrily without looking up from the microscope.

John bit back a retort as he finally managed to take out the phone.

"Text from your brother," John relayed.

Alex perked up at the mention of her other Uncle.

"Delete it."

"Delete it?" both Alex and John asked incredulously.

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

Alex hopped over to John and looked over his shoulder at the screen.

_RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS_

_Any progress on Andrew West's death?_

_Mycroft_

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important."

"Yeah, maybe he needs us to actually do something about it. It does seem pretty urgent," Alex agreed with John.

"Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?" Sherlock countered.

"His what?" John sighed tiredly, looking from Alex to his flatmate.

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?"

"Try and remember there's a woman here who might die."

"What for? This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

Alex frowned as John looked away in disbelief, that was harsh even by Sherlock's shaky standards.

"Ah!" Sherlock cried in delight, unaware of the tension created by his last statement.

The computer that was scanning the sample from the shoes bleeped SEARCH COMPLETE on the screen. Alerted by the noise, in walked Molly Hooper.

"Hey Molly!" Alex cried, waving her hand madly.

"Hello Alex! Any luck?"

"Oh yes!" Sherlock exclaimed triumphantly as Molly made her way over to the computer.

At that moment, the door opened for a second time and a hesitant head popped through. As soon as he saw that the room had other occupants other than Molly, he turned to head out apologetically.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't ..." he began.

"Jim! Hi!" Molly greeted with her lovely beaming smile, "Come in! Come in!"

Jim made his way over to the desk and Alex looked up with a frown. She knew his face…

"Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes and his niece Alex Holmes," Molly introduced but paused as she turned to John, "And, uh ... sorry…"

"John Watson, hi," John smiled, secretly irked that Molly had forgotten his name but pushed away the feeling to shake Jim's hand.

Alex gave the man a kind nod, still unable to place him. Jim turned to Sherlock and stared at his back like a fan-boy.

"So _you're_ Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" he asked excitedly as he walked around the back of him, staring wistfully at Sherlock.

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance," Molly giggled smittenly, Jim joining in with her.

But of course, Sherlock had to break the romantic moment. He looked up for half a second and turned back to his microscope.

"Gay."

"Sorry, what?"

All smiles immediately fell and Alex kicked Sherlock from under the table. He looked up at her accusingly but she just glowered in his direction. He seemed to get the message and moved his head to face Jim.

"Nothing. Um, hey!" Sherlock smiled falsely.

"Hey," Jim smiled admiringly.

As he lowered his hand from the wave, he accidently knocked off a metal dish which landed with a loud clatter that resonated off the walls. Sherlock looked properly affronted whilst John and Alex face palmed at each other.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Jim apologised profusely as he placed the dish back and awkwardly hovered back over to Molly, "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, about six-ish?"

"Yeah!" Molly grinned.

Jim pressed a hand to her back and looked at Sherlock.

"Bye. It was nice to meet you."

He stared at him longingly, obviously waiting for a response. He got none.

"You too," John supplied, desperate to break the awkwardness and put Jim out of his misery.

Jim nodded somewhat sadly that he didn't get a reply from Sherlock and left through the door with a sullen wave to Molly. As Alex watched his retreating back, her mind clicked and she flew out of her seat.

"I am just going to the toilet," she told Sherlock as she slipped through the door and ran up the corridor to Jim.

"Hey! Stop!" she called.

Jim seemed to jerk upright as he turned to face Alex.

"Oh hello, Alice," he greeted.

"Alex," the girl replied automatically.

"Sorry, _Alex_," he smiled.

"This is going to sound very strange but we have met before," Alex told him.

He looked thoroughly confused and Alex was beginning to panic. She _was_ thinking about the right person wasn't she?

"In Trafalgar Square? You said you were visiting from Birmingham," Alex prompted desperately.

Suddenly, his face flooded with recognition and a beam graced his pale face.

"Oh yes! I remember! Oh, what a coincidence, fate has worked here hasn't it?" he laughed.

Alex decided to bite back her analogy on how fate doesn't exist and settled for laughing with him.

"Yeah, you gave me a sausage roll. That is so strange. So are you still here from Birmingham? Pretty long holiday." Alex asked.

"Uh, no. I'm just here on business. One of the computers in an office up there needed to be fixed so I was chosen to go up there. How's your ankle?"

"It's loads better, thanks. It healed pretty quickly, I had a good doctor," Alex smiled, thinking of John.

"Cool. Well I had better get back up to the office before they sent a party out to search for me," he chuckled.

"Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot that you are meant to be working. I will leave you to it. I just wanted to say thank you for your kindness earlier, you didn't have to do that," Alex said sincerely and turned to leave.

"It was no problem, Alessandra."

Alex paused as she reached the door and threw over her shoulder,

"Oh yeah, by the way, if you hurt Molly, I will hunt you down and have you put before a firing squad. Have a nice day!"

Alex returned into the room and took up her seat next to John. It seemed that nothing much had happened in her short absence.

"What did you mean gay?" Molly asked Sherlock, "We are together."

"And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you," Sherlock replied, cleverly steering the conversation away from the gay comment.

"Two and a half."

"No, three."

"Sherlock," John warned under his breath.

"Ignore him Molly, he is just being… well he is just being Sherlock," Alex faltered.

"He's not gay. Why do you have to spoil-? He's not," Molly tried to convince herself.

"With that level of personal grooming?" Sherlock snorted.

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair!" John inputted, earning himself a high five from Alex.

"You _wash_ your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear."

"His _underwear_?" Molly squeaked.

"Visible above the waistline – _very_ visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here," he lifted up the metal dish, "and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Alex was about to mention the fact that Jim had a daughter but saw the distraught look on Molly's face and deemed it best to clamp her mouth shut. Molly stared at Sherlock for a moment before turning and fleeing from the room, a small sob escaping her lips. Alex contemplated going after her but thought that she probably needed some space.

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	43. The Great Game - Part 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything relating to it. All rights go to the BBC. I do own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Hello! I hope you are all enjoying the weekend :) Here is the next chapter-**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here," he lifted up the metal dish, "and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."_

_Alex was about to mention the fact that Jim had a daughter but saw the distraught look on Molly's face and deemed it best to clamp her mouth shut. Molly stared at Sherlock for a moment before turning and fleeing from the room, a small sob escaping her lips. Alex contemplated going after her but thought that she probably needed some space._

"Charming. Well done," John said to Sherlock sarcastically.

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?" Sherlock frowned as he turned to face John.

"'Kinder'? No, no, Sherlock. _That_," he nodded his head towards the door that Molly had just left through, "wasn't kind."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, apparently bored of the topic of conversation and pushed on of the trainers towards John.

"Go on then," he invited as he leant back in his chair.

"Mmm?"

"You know what I do. Off you go."

John snorted mirthlessly and checked his watch,

"No."

"Go on."

"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate-"

"An outside eye, a second opinion," Sherlock interrupted, "It's very useful to me."

"Get Alex to do it. She is almost as good as you," John reasoned.

Alex raised her head, more than ready to practice her deductions but Sherlock just shook his head, shooting her a look that she couldn't quite place. The look was only brief however and it was soon turned on John.

Alex had to hand it to him; he did pretty well not crumbling under Sherlock's stare for as long as he did. Most people only made it to-

"Fine," John relented.

-spoke too soon.

John cleared his throat and picked up one of the shoes in his hand with a blank look on his face as he turned it over.

"I don't know, they're just a pair of shoes- trainers," he corrected himself.

"Good," Sherlock praised.

"Umm ... they're in good nick," John continued, "I'd say they were pretty new ... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while. Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs."

"You're on _sparkling_ form. What else?" Sherlock pushed, genuinely curious now as to how much John was able to deduce.

"Well, they're quite big, so a man's-" John stopped short as Alex's small shake of the head caught his eye whilst Sherlock was typing on his phone.

She motioned to the tongue of the shoe and allowed John to figure out the rest.

John looked down to the indicated area and peeled back the material to find blue smudges.

"But there are traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid," John sent Alex a thankful look.

"Excellent," Sherlock said proudly, "What else?"

"Uh," he covertly looked over to Alex but only got a shrug in response; she hadn't picked up on anything else. It was time for the professional, "That's it."

"That's it?"

John nodded, "How did I do?"

"Well, John; _really_ well. I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know."

Sherlock held out his hand for the shoe expectantly and grinned when John shoved the footwear at him in frustration. He looked closely at the trainers and Alex inched closer to her Uncle to watch him at work.

"The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces three ... no, _four_ times. Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old."

"Twenty years?" John repeated in disbelief.

"They're not retro – they're original," Alex continued as she swiped Sherlock's mobile and showed John the page that Sherlock had found, "Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine."

"But there's still mud on them. They look _new_," John countered.

Sherlock snatched his phone back from Alex and gazed thoughtfully back at the shoes.

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?"

"Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me," Sherlock said as he nodded to the computer scanning for pollen readings all over England, "South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So what happened to him?"

"Something bad. He _loved_ those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets…" Sherlock trailed off as his face flooded with comprehension, "Oh."

"What?" John asked as Alex looked across the lab to see what her Uncle was staring at.

"Carl Powers," he replied softly.

"Sorry, who?"

"Carl Powers, John."

"What is it?"

"It's where I began."

* * *

><p>Alex sat in between Sherlock and John in the back of the taxi. They had six hours left to go on the countdown and were finally getting somewhere.<p>

"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident," Sherlock started, "Alex, you weren't even born then and John, you wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"

"But _you_ remember."

"Yes."

"Something fishy about it?" John asked with a knowing look.

"Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

"You start young, you Holmeses don't you?"

"The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes."

"What about them?"

"They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes," he picked up the evidence bag with the trainers slipped inside, "Until now."

"Where are we going now then? Scotland Yard?" Alex asked enthusiastically.

"No, we are going home for the moment. I need to find out more of the facts and concentrate. I cannot do that with the likes of Anderson and Donovan skulking around."

"Damn right," Alex muttered under her breath, causing John to look at her.

The taxi soon pulled up outside 221B and (as usual) John was left to pay the cabbie as both Holmeses disappeared into the flat. John handed over the money and disgruntledly entered the flat in a much slower pace.

"Alex, I need every newspaper article on Carl Powers that you can find printed off now," Sherlock ordered as he unwrapped the trainers and began to take more samples.

Alex nodded and took out her own laptop. She typed in 'Carl Powers Death' and tapped on the _Northern Echo _newspaper. She print screened the contents and put it onto a word document. She did this for at least nine articles.

"Is the _Daily Mail_ worth printing off?" Alex questioned.

"No," Sherlock called from the kitchen as Alex clicked print on her documents.

The printer shuddered and spluttered into life, coughing up a cloud of dust before spitting out the pages. Alex hesitantly took them and quickly switched the temperamental printer off at the wall. Was it possible to have a psychopathic printer?

Spreading the articles over the kitchen table, Alex began to scour through them as Sherlock took the other half. This kept them occupied for the next hour or so until the kitchen door was slid open and John crept through.

"Can I help? I want to help. There's only five hours left-"

A text alert cut John off and he rummaged around in his pocket to retrieve his phone.

**Any developments?  
>MH<strong>

"It's your brother. He's texting _me_ now," John frowned in puzzlement, "How does he know my number?"

"Must be a root canal," Sherlock commented as Alex giggled.

"Look, he did say 'national importance'," John quoted as he fully came into the kitchen.

"How quaint," Sherlock snorted, his eyes never leaving the pages.

"What is?"

"You are. Queen and Country."

"You can't just ignore it," John told him, his voice rising ever-so-slightly.

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now," Sherlock reassured him.

"Right. Good… Who's that?"

Alex raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed.

_Bloody Holmeses._

* * *

><p>John still had that thought in his mind as he sat in an uncomfortable suit and tie in the most intimidating office that he had ever had the <em>pleasure <em>of being in. He glanced behind him and saw the bookcase that Alex had told him about. Apparently, it had a secret door behind it that you only had to pull out the fifth volume of the _Monarchs at the Height of Power_ to uncover. John was sceptical, however, it all seemed a bit too Scooby Doo for him.

The desk in front of him was pristinely cleaned and completely organized. John couldn't help but think to his home back in Baker Street and compare it to the office to see how different the two Holmes brothers really were.

The sound of a door opening made John scramble to his feet as Mycroft Holmes walked in. John felt rather like a schoolboy being sent to the headmaster's office on the first day.

"John," Mycroft declared, "How nice. I was hoping you wouldn't be long."

_Of course he knew,_ John thought bitterly.

"How can I help you?" the eldest Holmes asked with a wave indicating that John should sit down.

"Thank you," John said as he sat, "Um, well, I was wanting to ... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans, the missile plans."

Mycroft looked over his shoulder at the other man and smiled.

"Did he?"

"Yes. He's investigating now. He's, err, investigating away," John fumbled, "Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man."

Mycroft leant back on his desk and folded his arms as he spoke,

"Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – err, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington Programme in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies. Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening."

"Right. He was found at Battersea, yes? So he got on the train," John assumed as he scribbled down the notes.

"No."

"What?"

"He had an Oyster card-" Mycroft suddenly clapped a hand to the side of his mouth as his gum twinged, "but it hadn't been used."

"Must have bought a ticket."

"There was no ticket on the body," Mycroft contradicted as he lowered his hand.

"Then-"

"Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?"

"He-he's fine, yes. Oh, and-and _it_ is going ... _very_ well. It's, um, you know – he's completely focussed on it," John lied unconvincingly.

* * *

><p>Darkness had fallen outside 221B and Alex reached over the desk to pull the curtains closed and flick the light switch on. Sherlock didn't react to the change in environment; he just stayed hunched over the microscope in the kitchen side table. He hadn't moved for two hours straight apart from a little jerk of his thumb on the dial of the microscope to change the magnification.<p>

A soft opening of the door made Alex look over in alarm. The writing on the now cleaned mirror had made her jumpy. Thankfully, it was only Mrs Hudson carrying a tray of mugs and biscuits.

"Hello, dear," Mrs Hudson smiled motherly at the teen as she handed her a hot chocolate and a chocolate chip cookie.

"Oh cheers, Mrs H," Alex said gratefully as she took a sip of the drink, "I wouldn't try and get a reaction from Sherlock yet. He's right in the middle of a case."

"Oh right," Mrs Hudson chirped knowingly.

"Poison," Sherlock breathed.

"What are you going on about?"

The woman laid down the tray next to Sherlock and was just about to place Sherlock's mug down next to him when he slammed his fist down loudly. Mrs Hudson cringed and turned to flee the room.

"Clostridium botulinum!"

"Sherlock!" Alex scolded.

John took this moment to enter the living room, sending a questioning glance to Mrs Hudson as she passed him on the stairs in a flap to get back to her flat. Sherlock turned to John.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!"

John's reply was just a blank stare.

"Carl Powers!" Sherlock prompted.

"Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?" Alex asked as she rose from her seat and walked over to Sherlock as he advanced towards the trainers hanging on a line across the living room.

"Remember the shoelaces? The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns," Sherlock explained.

"What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?" John questioned, wasn't that the whole point of an autopsy?!

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it," Sherlock said as he began typing in the forum section of his website _The Science of Deduction_.

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989)._

"But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet," Sherlock continued as his fingers rattled away at the keyboard again.

_Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

"That's why they had to go…"

"So how do we let the bomber know?" Alex pushed; the crying woman was still hostage.

"Get his attention, stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years," John remarked softly.

"Yes, meaning?"

"He's our bomber."

At that moment the pink iPhone rang and Sherlock dived to pick it up.

"_Well done, you. Come and get me_," the sobbing woman read out.

"Where _are_ you? Tell us where you are," Sherlock ordered.

Alex watched as her Uncle's features screwed up slightly as he placed the location in his mind palace. He promptly hung up and rang Lestrade to tell him. Once the phone calls were made, he gave a sharp nod of the head, signalling that the woman was now safe.

John quickly announced that he was going to sleep and, bidding the Holmeses goodnight, he went off to bed. Sherlock took his usual position in the armchair and entered his mind palace, no doubt running over the day's events in his head like a film reel. Alex sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. Deciding that saying goodnight to Sherlock when he was in his 'trance' would be useless so she clambered up to bed and collapsed.

Her mind couldn't settle however and she knew why. After ten minutes of tossing and turning, Alex huffed and threw her duvet over her shoulder before proceeding down the stairs. She didn't go to the living room, though. She bypassed it (checking that Sherlock was still in his mind palace) and headed down the stairs to Mrs Hudson's flat. The girl opened the door with her key and peeked through into Mrs Hudson's bedroom. The woman was fast asleep.

Alex let out a silent breath. Since she knew that someone would have had to get into Mrs Hudson's flat to get the key, a bomber no less, she was furious. She backed out of the room and walked into the living room. She plumped up one of the pillows on the sofa to rest her head on and pulled her duvet up to her chin.

And that was how Alex spent the night, facing the front door so that if anybody came near Mrs Hudson, the first thing that they would meet would be Alex's fist connecting with their face.

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed that :) As you will know if you have reviewed, I now send replies via pm. I hope this is okay for everyone!**

**HUGE thank you to:** **fmxc17, E I Cochrane, emilybrock101, RainbowSilenced, Rose Tomlinson, the-goblet-of-deduction, jokerharley1980, GottaLoveTen, and Xin0Lan for reviewing!**

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	44. The Great Game - Part 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything relating to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I do own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Hello! Urgh, school tomorrow :( At least I have double drama in the morning though... Here is the next chapter!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex let out a silent breath. Since she knew that someone would have had to get into Mrs Hudson's flat to get the key, a bomber no less, she was furious. She backed out of the room and walked into the living room. She plumped up one of the pillows on the sofa to rest her head on and pulled her duvet up to her chin._

_And that was how Alex spent the night, facing the front door so that if anybody came near Mrs Hudson, the first thing that they would meet would be Alex's fist connecting with their face._

Alex awoke early and, taking a second check to see if Mrs Hudson was alright, she proceeded back up to 221B and headed straight to the kitchen. She figured that Sherlock wouldn't be eating anything and he would be so wrapped up in the new 'game' that he would probably forget about John's need for food. She wasn't too hungry herself but a piece of toast wouldn't go amiss.

She took care to crack the eggs as quietly as she could so as not to disturb Sherlock. He was still in his mind palace, immobile in the living room. The egg poured out of the shell and spread into the frying pan.

_John may as well have a decent breakfast, _she thought.

So in went sausage and bacon also. Ten minutes later, the food was cooked and served out on the table. It wasn't even a full sixty seconds before John wandered in, the smell enticing him.

"Wow! Someone's been busy!" he exclaimed as he sat down at the table.

"You have had to put up with a lot over the last couple of months so I thought that you deserved something back," she smiled as she pushed his plate toward him and munched on a piece of bacon herself.

"Well, thank you Alex. Is there any chance that Sherlock will be eating anything this morning?"

"Not when we're in the middle of a case like this."

John studied Alex for a moment as she fell silent and concentrated on a spec on the table.

"Have you ever had a case like this before?" he finally asked.

"Not that I can remember. There was something when I was little, though," she suddenly recalled, "It was when Mum was still alive and I'm pretty sure that it was going on before I was born. I can remember some details from when I was five or six so it must have been a long case."

"What do you remember?" John asked casually.

"Mum and Uncle Sherlock used to go away a lot, usually in Europe. When I was very small, I used to think that they were going on holiday without me and I used to go off in a huff but as I got older, I understood that they were off gallivanting and solving cases. I used to go and stay with Mycroft and every time the two of them came home, they always looked tired and went straight to the sitting room to talk to Uncle Mycroft about 'grown up stuff'. Everything just kind of stopped after Mum died so I assume that the case got solved but every time I ask either of my uncles, they just tell me that it doesn't concern me and that I should forget about it," Alex explained. "I don't think they like talking about it. They don't really like talking about mum, to be honest."

"What do you remember about the case itself then?" John asked. He was just making conversation and was unaware of the presence of Sherlock behind him. As was Alex.

"Not much to be honest. They were all very secretive, even Anthea," Alex shrugged.

Sherlock nodded to himself and turned back; Alex didn't know anything, she was fine.

"Wait, I do remember something…"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks.

"A name…" Alex screwed her eyes shut as she delved back into her past, "It was late. I had a nightmare so I went to Mum's room, but she wasn't there. I remember going downstairs and Mum in the living room, nearly crying and she _something _to someone on the phone. I-I can't remember."

Sherlock pulled the kitchen door across with a loud bang.

"Sherlock!" Alex and John chastised at the same time.

"Sorry," he replied uncaringly as he slipped into the dining seat.

Alex sent him a filthy look which he returned.

"Are you nearly finished?" he asked, eyeing the food with distaste.

"Yes," John said as he rolled his eyes and laid down his knife and fork.

"Good because Lestrade wants to see us."

* * *

><p>"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house," Lestrade told them gravely from behind his desk, "Told her to phone you. She had to read out from this pager."<p>

He leant over a placed the device in front of John on the desk. John picked it up and turned it in his hands.

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off," Sherlock explained as he paced the office.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case."

"Oh. Elegant," Sherlock breathed, his fingers steepled under his chin as he walked to face the door.

"'Elegant'?" John reiterated in exasperation.

"But what was the point? Why would anyone _do_ this?" Lestrade asked.

"I know, _how_ can someone do this?" Alex nodded in disgust.

"Oh – I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the pink iPhone buzzed once more. John, Alex and Lestrade swivelled in their chairs to watch as Sherlock unlocked it.

_"You have one new message."_

A series of three pips and one long one echoed from the device.

"Four pips," John noted.

"First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second."

Sherlock showed the inhabitants of the room the screen of the phone. Alex looked over John's shoulder to see a photograph of a car.

"It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll see if it's been reported," Lestrade mumbled as he punched in a number and pressed the phone on his desk to his ear.

The door opened behind them and in walked none other than Sally Donovan. Alex resisted the urge to vomit.

"Freak, it's for you," the bushy haired woman drawled, ignoring Alex's glare.

Sherlock walked over to her and took the phone before walking outside the office to answer it.

"Hello?"

"_It's okay that you've gone to the police_," a trembling male voice said and Sherlock immediately recognised him as one of the new hostages.

"Who is this? Is this you again?"

"_But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him. Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing_."

Inside the office, Alex nudged John and signalled for him to follow her as she exited the office and looked at Sherlock with concern.

"And you've stolen another voice, I presume," Sherlock continued.

"_This is about you and me," _the tearful voice answered.

"Who _are_ you? What's that noise?"

"_The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry, I can soon fix that," _the man let out a terrified sob at the prospect, "You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight."

The line went dead. Alex, John and Sherlock passed knowing looks. Phase 2 commencing.

Lestrade's head popped out of the office with a smirk.

"We've found it."

* * *

><p>Alex shivered against the freezing air and unconsciously shuffled closer between John and Sherlock to try and absorb some extra body heat as they followed Lestrade into an old landfill site. The car that was in the picture stood just in the corner.<p>

"The car was hired yesterday morning by an Ian Monkford. Banker of some kind; City boy. Paid in cash," Lestrade explained as he flicked through notes on his clipboard, "Told his wife he was going away on a business trip, but he never arrived."

Alex joined Sherlock and Lestrade as they walked straight to the car door but John got side tracked by Donovan.

"You're still hanging round them," she stated.

"Yeah, well…" John trailed off awkwardly.

"Opposites attract, I suppose."

"No, we're not-"

"You should get yourself a hobby – stamps, maybe. Model trains. Safer," Donovan suggested condescendingly.

John shook his head as he walked over to join Alex and Sherlock. Sherlock opened the glove compartment and took out a small white card, at which Alex raised an eyebrow at. The whole inside interior of the front of the car was smeared in scarlet blood.

"Before you ask, yes, it's Monkford's blood. The DNA checks out," Lestrade informed them.

"No body," Sherlock identified.

"Not yet," Donovan replied snottily.

"Get a sample sent to the lab," Sherlock ordered and backed out of the car.

Alex also straightened up and snorted at Donovan and Lestrade. The detective inspector gave Donovan a pointed look and she just stared back at him petulantly. He held her gaze however and she grunted in annoyance and stomped off like a child being scolded.

"Is it time for the drama lesson of the day?" Alex whispered to Sherlock.

He grinned down at her.

"Initiate."

Alex's face crumpled up as she burrowed against Sherlock's side. His arm looped around her shoulders and pressed her tightly to him. John smiled slightly at the two, ignorant to the true nature of the affectionate scene. They walked over to Mrs Monkford.

"Mrs Monkford?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," the woman looked between John and Sherlock and made a snap judgement and sighed, "I am sorry, but I've already spoken with two policemen."

"No, we're not from the police; we're-"

"Sherlock Holmes. Very old friend of your husband's. We, um, we grew up together," Sherlock's voice was thick with emotion and tears filled his eyes.

"I'm Alex Holmes. Ian used to come 'round and play with me when I was younger before he went to work sometimes when he and Sherlock wanted to catch up," Alex's voice cracked and she hid her face in Sherlock's coat.

"I'm sorry, who? I don't think he ever mentioned either of you."

"Oh, he _must_ have done. This is ... this is horrible, isn't it?" Sherlock had tears down his face.

"Ian didn't deserve to go so early. He has never done anything wrong, he played by the rules so why?" Alex added.

"Well he _did _sometimes-" Mrs Monkford stopped herself immediately.

"I mean, I just can't believe it. I only saw him the other day. Same old Ian – not a care in the world," Sherlock continued, his acting of course top-class.

"Sorry, but my husband has been depressed for months. Who _are_ you?" Mrs Monkford glared at them both.

"Really strange that he hired a car. Why would he do that? It's a bit suspicious, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. He forgot to renew the tax on the car, that's all."

"Oh, well, that was Ian! That was Ian all over!" Sherlock chuckled tearfully with a fond smile.

"No it wasn't!"

Sherlock and Alex's false personas dropped rapidly.

"Wasn't it? Interesting."

Sherlock turned on his heel and ducked under the police tape, Alex wriggling out from under his arm.

"Why did you two lie to her?" John asked as he followed them.

"People don't like telling you things, but they love to contradict you. Past tense, did you notice?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry, what?"

"We both referred to her husband in the past tense. She joined in. Bit premature – they've only just found the car."

"You think she murdered her husband?"

"Definitely not. That's not a mistake a murderer would make."

Alex snorted; she could count a few murderers that they had come across that appeared to be that stupid.

"I see… no I don't, what am I seeing?" John answered honestly and looked to Sherlock to explain.

Unfortunately, all he got was a shout from Donovan.

"Fishing! Try fishing!"

"You try and get through five seconds without being a git!" Alex called back as she turned to face the insufferable woman.

John groaned and pulled Alex away by the shoulder, the last thing they needed was a catfight.

"Where now?" he asked once the situation was under control.

"Janus Cars," Sherlock showed John and Alex the business card from his pocket, "I found this in the glove compartment."

Alex's phone took that moment to vibrate in her pocket and she stopped to answer it. John turned when he realised that she was no longer following but she motioned to him that she would catch them up. Sherlock wrinkled his nose in displeasure but she just shot him a glare as the men continued to walk. Alex slid the answer button and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

_"H-hello," _the voice was tremulous and quaking.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked in concern.

_"I am fine, dear Alessandra. But this poor man isn't. Are you any closer to figuring it out?"_

Alex's eyes narrowed in hate.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you ringing _me_ and not Sherlock?"

_"I feel that I have been neglecting you. Don't worry, I'll make up for that soon."_

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Alex's voice began to rise in anger, "You're obviously mental case, and as soon as the police find you, you're going to prison for a long, long time!"

_"Oh, you are childish aren't you? I had hoped that I would contact you when you had some maturity."_

"Me some maturity? I am not the one strapping people to bombs because I am BORED!"

Sherlock and John turned at Alex's yell and frowned at her from the top of the bank.

_"Lovely, I think I get to speak to stand-in daddy Holmes now."_

Sure enough, Sherlock was advancing towards her. He held out his hand for Alex's phone and she reluctantly handed it over.

"I thought that you said this was between me and you," Sherlock's voice was hard and cold.

_"Whoops, I must have forgotten to mention your little black-haired time-bomb next to you. She has quite the temper."_

"Leave her out of your game."

_"No."_

The line was filled with one long beep as the call ended. Alex tried to retrieve her phone but Sherlock pocketed it instead.

"Hey!" she protested indignantly. "I've just got that one!"

"What did he say to you?" Sherlock probed, ignoring her protests.

"Nothing, he was just taunting me."

Sherlock gave her a stern look, "If you are lying to me…"

"I am not! I promise!" she told him sincerely.

Her Uncle eventually nodded, satisfied and pushed Alex in front of him to meet John at the top of the hill. Once there, they hailed a cab. Sherlock bent down to the cabby's window,

"Janus Cars, please," he ordered.

**Author's Note: Um, not much to say today. The next chapter should be up either tomorrow or Tuesday :)**

**Replies to all reviews should be through to you in the next half an hour or so because my messages are playing up again. You will have them soon though!**

**I hope that you enjoyed this chapter all of you lovely people!**

**Please Review**

**-Abby**


	45. The Great Game - Part 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Hello! Here is the next chapter:**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Hey!" she protested indignantly._

_"What did he say to you?" Sherlock probed, ignoring her protests._

_"Nothing, he was just taunting me."_

_Sherlock gave her a stern look, "If you are lying to me…"_

_"I am not! I promise!" she told him sincerely. _

_Her Uncle eventually nodded, satisfied and pushed Alex in front of him to meet John at the top of the hill. Once there, they hailed a cab. Sherlock bent down to the cabby's window,_

_"Janus Cars, please," he ordered. _

Alex rested her chin on her fist as she stared glumly at the wall behind the desk that she was sitting at. She was not in the best of moods to start with and having her new mobile phone taken off her by no fault of her own did not help the situation in the slightest. The trio had arrived at Janus Cars about half an hour ago but they had to wait because Mr Ewert (the manager) had other business to attend to. Obviously the murder of one of his customers was trivial compared to who threw up in the new Porsche.

"Can't see how I can help you gentlemen," Mr Ewert admitted as he leaned back casually in his chair opposite Alex and John, "And lady of course."

"Mr Monkford hired the car from you yesterday," John double checked as he scribbled down notes in his trusty notepad.

"Yeah. Lovely motor. Mazda RX-8. Wouldn't mind one of them myself!"

"Is that one?" Sherlock asked, pointing behind Mr Ewert at the wall display.

Mr Ewert spun his head to look at the image of the car that was clearly not a Mazda. As he turned, Sherlock leant over and glanced at the man's neck. Alex raised an eyebrow at him and he just tapped the top of his coat and his niece immediately understood.

"No, they're all Jags. Yeah, I can see you're not a car man, eh?" Mr Ewert smiled, shooting John an amused look.

"But, err, surely _you_ can afford one – a Mazda, I mean?"

"Yeah, it's a fair point. But you know how it is: it's like working in a sweetshop. Once you start picking at the liquorice allsorts, when does it all stop, eh?"

Alex nodded: people that worked in chocolate factories must have to have unbelievable self-control. If that was Alex, she would be the size of a bus and then some. But not a double decker, let's be _rational _here.

Alex was drawn from her chocolate analogy by the sight of Mr Ewert scratching his arm. She would have just cast it off, if it wasn't for the small pinprick sized dot of blood seeping through his shirt. That was when alarm bells began to ring in Alex's head. She knew that Sherlock had picked up on it as well.

"But you didn't know Mr Monkford?" John checked.

"No, he was just a client. Came in here and hired one of my cars. No idea what happened to him. Poor sod," Mr Ewert looked down sadly.

But not sad enough. Or too sad. Either way, Alex could pick him out as being fake; countless drama lessons with Sherlock had taught her to recognise when someone is acting.

"Nice holiday, Mr Ewert?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"Eh?"

"You've been away, haven't you?"

"Oh, the-the," he motioned with his tanned hand to his tanned face, "No, it's, err, sunbeds, I'm afraid, yeah. Too busy to get away. My wife would love it, though – bit of sun."

"Have you got any change for the cigarette machine?"

_Oh dear_, Alex thought, he wasn't exactly playing the subtle card.

"What?"

"Well, I noticed one on the way in and I haven't got any change," he held out a ten pound note in a loose grip, "I'm _gasping_."

Mr Ewert reached into his trouser pocket with a grunt and pulled out his wallet. He opened it up and flicked through some notes that Alex couldn't see from her position.

"No, sorry."

"Oh well. Thank you very much for your time, Mr Ewert," Sherlock smiled as he headed for the door, "You've been very helpful. Come on, John, Alex."

Alex stood to her feet and winced as her back cracked. _I am seriously unfit, _she thought. She followed John out of the door and they walked out into the car park.

"I-I've got change if you still want to, uh," John offered.

"Nope, he made a deal that if he picked up another cigarette, he has to sit through _Mamma Mia _with me," Alex grinned wickedly.

"I should get the DVD ready then."

"Hey! Nicotine patches, remember!" Sherlock defended, "I'm doing well."

Alex jogged a little so that she fell into step with her Uncle and looped her arm through his.

"That you are, Mr Holmes, that you are."

"So if you didn't need cigarettes, what was _that_ all about?" John called from behind the two.

"I needed to look inside his wallet."

"Why?"

"Because Mr Ewert is a liar."

* * *

><p>"Can't I come with you?" Alex groaned petulantly outside the taxi.<p>

"No. Mycroft wants to see you and he will skin me if I don't make sure that you go," Sherlock replied strictly.

"Since when did you care what Mycroft thought of you?"

_Since I realised that he holds the power to take you off me, _Sherlock wanted to say but instead retorted with,

"I don't, but he is your also your legal guardian so," he made a 'run along then' motion with his hands.

Alex moaned and conceded. Mycroft would skin her too…

"Fine. When is Anthea picking me up?"

"She isn't. She has fallen ill and Mycroft's staff are apparently indisposed with some election somewhere," Sherlock shrugged.

"Excellent, so I have to walk," Alex mumbled sarcastically.

"Yes," Sherlock beamed brightly and slipped into his and John's taxi to take them to St Bart's.

_And no doubt to have some jolly good fun without me, _Alex mulled bitterly.

She turned down the street and headed over to Mycroft's house. It was about two miles from Janus Cars and she couldn't take a cab because Mycroft couldn't risk anyone finding out that Alex regularly visited _the _British Government and took an easy to hijack taxi to get there.

Alex kicked a pebble moodily. She didn't know why she was so angry. Well, no, that was a lie. She knew _exactly_ why she was angry- that bloody bomber. That crying woman had been strapped to that bomb for hours, terrified for what must have felt like days. Alex knew what it felt like to be that terrified and she couldn't imagine it happening for anything longer than _one _hour, never mind _twelve_. She swore that when they found the bastard, she would give him such a punch that he wouldn't be able to move his face for at least a week. Perhaps she would be allowed to use a crowbar…

A sudden ringing to her left caught her attention. Alex turned her head to the source of the noise and shook her head exasperatedly when she saw that it was a public telephone ringing in its booth.

Alex walked up to the booth and picked up the phone.

"Why can't you just wait until I get to yours like a normal person, Uncle Mycroft?" Alex laughed.

_"I like your laugh," _a voice that was definitely not her Uncle's complemented.

Alex's limbs froze. Her smile dropped.

"How did-"

_"Shut the door Alex."_

Feeling that she was in no position to argue, she took the metal door and slid it closed so that she was trapped inside. She began to feel a little claustrophobic.

"What do you want with me? Why won't you speak in your own voice?"

_"So many questions. Inquisitive, hmm. Interesting."_

"Shut up! Look, just leave me alone. I haven't done anything to you. I-If you want fun, I am not your girl. I am nowhere near as good as Sherlock, please just leave me alone," Alex voice was thick with pleading.

_"Ohh, Alessandra. You are so much more fun than Sherlock Holmes. Don't get me wrong, he is fun. But you are a different kind of fun."_

"I have no idea what you mean."

_"You will one day. Now trot along, you don't want to be late for your little get together with Uncle Mycwoft."_

The line buzzed off and Alex let the phone drop and dangle from the cable. She felt sick. Very sick. It was the way he chose his words. _A different kind of fun…_

Alex suddenly burst out of the phone box and had to run into the alleyway next to her. She bent over on her knees and threw up the contents of her stomach. She coughed and spluttered until there was nothing left and she propped herself up against the wall of the block of flats that she was beside. Her throat was burning and a horrible taste lingered on her tongue but that was the least of her worries.

She only had another half a mile to walk to her Uncle's house so she gathered herself up and walked the rest of the way with as much dignity as one that had just vomited could have.

She couldn't have arrived at the gates quick enough and as soon as she was through the door, she retired straight to her bedroom without a word to Mycroft. She collapsed onto her bed and just wanted to go to sleep; wishing that she had gone with Sherlock and never had the bloody phone call. After all, ignorance is bliss.

* * *

><p>Sherlock stood behind the desk at St Bart's alone, having sent John out for breathing too loudly. He took out the sample of Ian Monkford's blood and placed it in a Petrie dish. He squeezed out a drop of liquid from a pipette and let it fall into the blood, causing the mixture to fizz and react. Just as the drop fell, the pink iPhone in Sherlock's pocket began to ring.<p>

"Hello?"

_"The clue's in the name. Janus Cars."_

_"_Why would you be giving me a clue?"

_"Why does anyone do anything? Because I'm bored. We were made for each other, Sherlock."_

"Then talk to me in your own voice," Sherlock smirked.

"_Patience. Oh and you might want to keep a closer rein on your little girl, she is in quite a state. A bug must be going around."_

The line went dead as Sherlock saw red. What had Alex done now? Wasn't she meant to be with Mycroft? Sherlock picked up his own mobile and rang Mycroft.

_"Mycroft Holmes."_

"Mycroft, is Alex with you?"

_"Yes, she stormed in a few minutes ago. Have you upset her again?"_

"Look, someone has talked to her or something but apparently she isn't well. If you can slot it into your teeming agenda, could you please check that our niece isn't dead," Sherlock drawled.

_"Will you ever grow up?"_

"I think you know the answer to that. Tut tut Mycroft, and to think, people used to regard you as the smart one…"

* * *

><p>Mycroft put the phone down with a long suffering sigh. His brother really was a one off. Thankfully, his team seemed to have the elections under control so he found himself with a portion of free time on his hands so he could follow out his orders. Mycroft scowled, that would be the day; him taking orders from his own <em>little brother<em>. When he was little, he used to call Sherlock his _little bother _instead…

_"Mother!" a five year Sherlock cried from the top of the stairs._

_Mrs Holmes rolled her eyes and put down her book to see what the commotion was about. She shuffled into the hallway to find her youngest son with a murderous expression on his face._

_"What is wrong, dear?" she asked kindly._

_"Mycroft took my worm and threw it out the window!"_

_"Where were you with your worm, dear?" _

_"Dissecting it in my bloody sock drawer, mother!" Mycroft yelled from his bedroom._

_"Wallace! Language!" Mrs Holmes scolded._

_The door of Mycroft's bedroom swung open as his head appeared next to his brother's._

_"My name is Mycroft."_

_"No, dear. It is Wallace Michael Mycroft Holmes-" Mrs Holmes started patiently._

_"Are we just forgetting about my worm?!" Sherlock exclaimed with a stricken look on his little face._

_"Don't interrupt, sweetheart," Mrs Holmes reprimanded tiredly. _

_"Yeah, don't interrupt grown up talk," Mycroft added snottily._

_"Oh sorry, Wallace," Sherlock mocked._

_"Shut up William," Mycroft hissed._

_"You are lowering the IQ of the whole room."_

_"You are lowering the IQ of the whole street."_

_"You are meant to be the smart one; you can't even come up with an original insult!"_

_"Goldfish!"_

_Mrs Holmes sighed sadly at her two boys and picked her book back up. Hopefully they would be done by sundown. _

_In fact, it was three hours later that worn looking Mycroft came into the kitchen and took out a chocolate cake bar and sat opposite his mother. He chomped down on his treat contently._

_"You really should be nice to your little brother," Mrs Holmes told him gently with a motherly smile. _

_"Little Brother, more like Little Bother," Mycroft raised his voice so Sherlock would be able to hear him from upstairs; "There's an original insult for you!"_

Mycroft couldn't help but smile at the memory.

**Author's Note: Little bit of kid!lock there :) I hope you all enjoyed it!**

**Thank you to:**

**Georgyann Wayson**

**gina1120**

**Just Kloe Please**

**AtomicTardis**

**Amelia Duncan**

**for following/favouriting :)**

**Because I don't have your profile to send an e-mail to,**

**thekeytosherlock- Hey! That sounds really cool, which country do you live in? I live in England and I don't think that I have ever seen any of those around near my home but that isn't really saying much- I am not the most observant person in the world haha. Thanks for the review!**

**There we go,**

**Please Review,**

**-Abby**

**X**


	46. The Great Game - Part 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock blah blah.**

**Author's Note: Hello! I am so sorry about the long wait but this chapter has been very difficult to write (you will see what I mean). I have been postponing it and I couldn't put it off any longer so, here you go-**

_Previously:_

_Mycroft put the phone down with a long suffering sigh. His brother really was a one off. Thankfully, his team seemed to have the elections under control so he found himself with a portion of free time on his hands so he could follow out his orders. Mycroft scowled, that would be the day; him taking orders from his own little brother. When he was little, he used to call Sherlock his little bother instead…_

Mycroft opened the door to Alex's room slowly and peeked in. Alex by this time had sat up and propped her back against the headrest behind her.

"Sherlock said that you were feeling under the weather."

"Well then Sherlock's wrong. I'm completely fine, just worn out a little," she lied with a convincing smile.

Mycroft made his way over to her and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.

"You do feel a little warm," he noted.

Alex wriggled from under his arm and stood up as straight as she could.

"Stop trying to be John," she joked, feeling that jokes would make her lie seem more natural, "I only came here because Sherlock made me. I'm sorry but I have to get back. We are so close to solving this case now that I don't want to miss the best bit."

"I thought you said, and I quote, 'the thrill is in the chase, never in the capture'?" Mycroft raised a teasing eyebrow at her.

"Ha-ha," she said dryly as she collected her coat from the desk chair and headed to the door. Just as she got close however, Mycroft caught her arm.

"The nature of your presence is not merely social, Alex."

Alex frowned at him, "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember the case with the lithium poisoning?"

Alex nodded nonplussed.

"A young girl was killed linking with the case- Laura Mauston," Mycroft stated carefully.

As soon as the name was mentioned, Alex felt her blood run colder than it already was. Laura. Oh, so much guilt.

"W-what about her?" Alex stumbled.

"Gillian Mauston has already been buried but her daughter's funeral is separate. I thought you might like to know."

"When is it?" she asked, taking herself by surprise at the lack of warble in her voice.

"Tomorrow noon at the same church as your Mother's funeral was," Mycroft replied softly. "It's an open funeral, they want as many people to see Laura off as they can. I was wondering if you were thinking of going."

"Um… yeah, yeah I should go. Pay my respects, you know. It's the least I can do."

An uneasy silence fell over the room. Alex shuffled on her feet and finally proceeded out of the door without a goodbye to her uncle, she didn't think that her voice could cope for another sentence. She would much rather leave with some dignity than a sobbing, guilt-ridden mess. She checked her phone and saw that John had text her his and Sherlock's whereabouts so she set off on foot once more.

* * *

><p>Alex was already at Mr Monkford's car at Scotland Yard when Sherlock, John and Lestrade entered from down the stairs.<p>

"Hello, Alex!" John exclaimed in surprise, he hadn't expected her back so soon.

"Hey," she replied quietly and kept her gaze on the car so as not to make eye contact.

If Sherlock hadn't been so wrapped up in the case, he would have deduced what was up in the first thirty seconds. But that was _if. _He simply walked around to the front of the car and faced Lestrade.

"How much blood was on that seat, would you say?"

"How much? Um, about a pint," Lestrade answered.

"Not 'about'. _Exactly_ a pint. That was their first mistake. The blood's definitely Ian Monkford's but it's been frozen."

Alex forgot about the funeral for the moment and listened to Sherlock raptly, it was after all, the answer to the puzzle that they had all been trying to solve.

"Frozen?"

"There are clear signs. I think Ian Monkford gave a pint of his blood some time ago and that's what they spread on the seats," Sherlock explained confidently.

"_Who_ did?" Alex insisted.

"Janus Cars. The clue's in the name."

"The… god with two faces," John tried uncertainly.

Sherlock nodded.

"Exactly."

Alex had never heard of the god Janus before. She probably hadn't been listening in that class, if she had ever been taught that at all.

"So what exactly happened, I don't understand," she said to Sherlock.

"They provide a very special service. If you've got any kind of a problem – money troubles, bad marriage, whatever – Janus Cars will help you disappear. Ian Monkford was up to his eyes in some kind of trouble – financial, at a guess; he's a banker. Couldn't see a way out. But if he were to vanish, if the car he hired was found abandoned with his blood all over the driver's seat…" Sherlock trailed off and allowed the others to fill in the rest.

"So where is he now?" John questioned.

"Columbia," Sherlock replied simply as he slammed the passenger door shut.

"_Columbia_?!"

"Mr. Ewert of Janus Cars had a twenty thousand Columbian peso note in his wallet and quite a bit of change, too. He told us he hadn't been abroad recently, but when I asked him about the cars, I could see his tan line clearly. No-one wears a shirt on a sunbed. That, plus his arm."

"His arm?"

"Kept scratching it, didn't he?" Alex tried and continued at Sherlock's encouraging nod, "Obviously irritating him, and bleeding."

"Why?" Sherlock tested.

"Because he'd recently had a booster jab. Hep-B, probably. Difficult to tell at that distance," Alex finished.

"Conclusion: he'd just come back from settling Ian Monkford into his new life in Columbia. Mrs Monkford cashes in the life insurance and she splits it with Janus Cars."

"M-_Mrs _Monkford?" John stuttered in disbelief- that crying woman knew all along?

"Oh yes. She's in on it too. Now go and arrest them, Inspector. That's what you do best," Sherlock turned to Alex and John, "_We_ need to let our friendly bomber know that the case is solved. I am on _fire!"_

As soon as the trio arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock dived straight for the laptop and, with it being dark and unsafe at the moment, Alex double backed on herself and went down to Mrs Hudson's flat. She knocked on the door and tutted when she saw that it wasn't even locked. Alex walked straight in and (ignoring how easy it would be for someone to walk as she was) found Mrs Hudson in the kitchen, humming as she stirred some cake batter.

"Oh, hello dearie!" Mrs Hudson greeted after a moment of shock.

"Hello, Mrs H. You really need to remember to lock your door, it isn't safe here anymore," Alex warned seriously.

"Oh, nonsense," Mrs Hudson brushed off as she flicked the kettle on, "I have lived here for nearly twenty years and I have always kept my door open. I have had no trouble cross paths with me yet."

_You didn't have the bane of most serial killers living upstairs then,_ Alex countered in her head.

"Just promise me that you will lock it from now on."

Mrs Hudson poured some tea into two mugs and beckoned for Alex to follow her into the living room.

"Whatever you say, Alex. But I really don't see the point of it," the elderly lady held the cup to her lips, "Ooh, did you see that person on Connie Prince's show the other day. She was a size thirty and Connie managed to fit her into a size _twenty eight!"_

Alex laughed out loud at how a conversation with Mrs Hudson could turn from imperative security measures to Connie Prince in a matter of seconds.

* * *

><p>It was morning when Alex woke up in the guest bedroom at Mrs Hudson's. The bed was uncomfortable with lack of use but it was better than the sofa arrangement that had taken place the previous night. Alex still didn't feel comfortable leaving Mrs Hudson alone at night, though, so it seemed that the bedroom would get some use over the next few days after all.<p>

Alex slipped out quietly as Mrs Hudson was still asleep and went up to the flat. She was pleasantly surprised to see John already dressed and about to head out. Sherlock was of course in the same boat but that was hardly surprising.

"Good morning," Alex smiled.

John returned the gesture whilst Sherlock continued to stare at the pink iPhone in his hand as if daring it to ring.

"Yeah, I must have fallen asleep down there by accident last night," Alex lied.

John smiled tenderly at her,

"I may not be your uncle but I am not stupid you know," he laughed good-naturedly, "I know the real reason that you have spent the last few nights with Mrs Hudson and I think that it is very honourable of you."

Alex blushed under the praise and tried to find something to change the subject with.

"So where are you two going this early?"

"We are going for breakfast."

"_Sherlock_ is getting breakfast?" Alex asked incredulously.

"Don't be silly, me and you are. He will sit opposite and watch the phone most probably. Are you up for it?"

"Of course!"

Who wouldn't say no to a full English on a dreary November morning?

They settled for a café just around the corner, deciding to give Speedy's a miss since they had their custom almost every day. The café was relatively full but there was a free table just to the left of the door that, needless to say, was pounced on by Alex and saved for John and Sherlock.

Sherlock slipped wordlessly into (as John predicted) the seat opposite and fixed his eyes on the phone on the table. John rolled his eyes and sat next to Alex.

It wasn't long before two Full English Breakfasts were served in front of them and devoured.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock finally spoke.

Alex nodded her head.

"Mmm. You realise we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?" John scooped another forkful of food into his mouth, "Has it occurred to you-?"

"Probably," Sherlock cut in.

"No – has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

"Yes, I know."

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?"

"Perhaps."

Alex felt a shiver up her spine as she remembered the phone call yesterday. _A different kind of fun._

Suddenly, the phone signalled a message and Sherlock played it. Two short pips followed by a longer bleep rang out and a photograph of a smiling woman filled the small screen. Sherlock spun the phone around to show Alex and John.

"Well that could be anybody," he indicated.

"Well, it _could_ be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed," John said as he stood up.

Alex looked over to the phone and her face flooded with recognition. She turned and beamed at John.

"How do you mean?" Sherlock asked in bewilderment.

"Lucky for you, dear uncle, Mrs Hudson and I watch far too much telly," Alex grinned, enjoying the feeling of knowing something that Sherlock didn't.

The feeling was short lived however when John picked up the remote and switched the channel over to Connie Prince's show.

The phone immediately rang and Alex scrambled around to Sherlock's side of the table to listen as he answered the impending call.

"Hello?"

_"This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry," _the shaky voice of an old woman narrated, "_She's blind. This is ... a funny one."_

Alex's jaw set.

_"I'll give you ... twelve hours."_

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock demanded.

_"I like ... to watch you ... dance."_

The phone shut off and Alex banged her fist down on the table in fury. Defective? Defective?! _He _was the defective one!

"Alex, calm down. Getting hysterical isn't going to help her," Sherlock snapped irritably as he swung his coat onto his shoulders.

Alex gathered the dirtiest look she could and threw it at her Uncle as he stood.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"St Bart's," Sherlock replied.

Alex was just about to follow them out of the door when a woman sat at the table next to her caught her arm.

"Sorry love, but I have had a text for you," the stranger told her with a completely baffled look on her face, "It's from a Mr Holmes."

Alex rolled her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. Could I have a look at the message, please?"

The woman seemed understandably reluctant to hand her expensive mobile over to a teenage girl so kept a firm grip on the phone and showed Alex the screen. The girl felt her stomach plummet.

**The funeral starts in one hour- Mr Holmes.**

The woman holding the phone must have read the message as she gave Alex a sympathetic smile. Alex didn't have the heart to smile back and just walked dejectedly out of the café to where Sherlock and John were waiting impatiently next to a cab outside.

As soon as they saw Alex, they piled in and held the door open for her.

"I'll have to catch you up," she informed them regretfully.

"Are you okay?" John asked in concern.

"Yeah, I um… just have some stuff to do."

"What stuff-?"

"Oh what does it matter John," Sherlock interrupted before turning to the cabbie, "St Bart's hospital."

And with that, the cab sped off leaving a crestfallen Alex standing on the curb. She had noticed that Sherlock was getting increasingly more… well… _Sherlock _towards her. It had always been that he would be rude to everybody else but different around Alex. It seemed that that was starting to change.

Alex walked back to Baker Street to change into a black dress that Anthea had bought her last week. It was just above knee length with a grey flower pattern up the side but Alex really couldn't care less, as long as she looked presentable and was in black. Her hair was put up in a bun and a pair of flat, black shoes later, she was ready to go.

It was only a short walk away to the same place that she had ran to when things had gotten too much at school. The same cemetery. Only this time, a long black hearse was parked amongst other cars outside. People were milling around all dressed in the same drab clothing and –Alex noticed with a sad sigh- all with families. Not one person was on their own apart from Alex.

She awkwardly walked over to a tall man that was easily identified as Mr Mauston, Laura's father.

"Hello, Mr Mauston," Alex said. "I'm so sorry about what happened."

He smiled at her, obviously not having a clue who she was, "Thank you. I appreciate anyone turning up today. We're founding a charity in Laura and Gillian's names so we just want to get the word out there."

"That's great."

He grimaced and turned to someone else, a family friend maybe, who wrapped her arms around him with tears in her eyes.

Alex looked away, feeling like she was intruding, and walked to the side of the church doors. The pews were only for family and friends, the public were allowed to stand in the cemetery. Eventually, people began to file in, Alex making sure to look at the floor when they did. Some bore striking resemblances to Gillian, it was so easy to see them laid on the floor with a bullet in the chest.

The service inside lasted ten minutes. Alex composed herself as she heard the people inside stand. Mr Mauston was the first after the coffin, his family behind him, then friends, as they walked to the freshly dug grave.

The thing that struck Alex was how small the coffin was. The only coffin she had seen before had been that of her mother's, a long, beautiful mahogany coffin. This one looked too small. Unfinished. Just like Laura.

Not many stuck around after she had been buried, most opting to go back into the church or travel to the wake. Alex however, lingered, looking at Laura's headstone. It said the usual things, 'taken too soon', and 'always be missed', something that Alex's mother's stone was missing. It only said her name.

She could see it from the corner of her eye, at the far side of the yard. Under the tree. But she had said she wouldn't go back. She couldn't.

In the end, she settled for putting a twenty-pound note in the donation box and, not knowing what else to do, bought some flowers from the florist next door and laid them beside the headstone.

"Sorry, Laura."

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	47. The Great Game - Part 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything relating to the show. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey! Here is the next chapter!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Not many stuck around after she had been buried, most opting to go back into the church or travel to the wake. Alex however, lingered, looking at Laura's headstone. It said the usual things, 'taken too soon', and 'always be missed', something that Alex's mother's stone was missing. It only said her name._

_She could see it from the corner of her eye, at the far side of the yard. Under the tree. But she had said she wouldn't go back. She couldn't._

_In the end, she settled for putting a twenty-pound note in the donation box and, not knowing what else to do, bought some flowers from the florist next door and laid them beside the headstone._

_"Sorry, Laura."_

Alex pushed her way through the lifts at St Bart's and was extremely relieved to be spat out of the cubical on the floor of the morgue – she knew she hadn't been paying attention. She jogged to the end of the corridor and turned into the mortuary to see Sherlock, John and Lestrade crowded around a body on a slab.

"Hello, guys," Alex greeted softly as she came to stand next to John, "What do we know here then?"

"Connie Prince, fifty-four. She had one of those make-over shows on the telly," Lestrade read off a clipboard, "Did you see it?"

"No," Sherlock replied at the same time that Alex said,

"Yes. Mrs Hudson and I have watched it for years. It was very popular, she was going places."

"Not any more. According to one of her staff, Raoul de Santos, she cut her hand on a rusty nail in the garden. Nasty wound," Sherlock commented as he leaned closer to inspect the cut on Connie's hand, "Tetanus bacteria enters the bloodstream – good night Vienna."

"I suppose."

"Something's wrong with this picture," Sherlock uttered quietly.

"Eh?"

"Can't be as simple as it seems, otherwise the bomber wouldn't be directing us towards it. Something's wrong."

Sherlock's eyes trailed up from Connie's thumb on her right hand up to the slice that webbed between her fingers and continued up her arm. Three neat scratches stained the skin red further up to her shoulder.

The detective then proceeded to investigate Prince's forehead. He pulled out his magnifier and held it over small pinprick dots on the flesh above the woman's brow.

"John," Sherlock called, "The cut on her hand: it's deep; would have bled a lot, right?"

"Yeah," John answered.

"But the wound's clean – _very_ clean, and fresh," Sherlock straightened up and stared in front of him thoughtfully, "How long would the bacteria have been incubating inside her?"

"Eight, ten days."

Sherlock quirked his famous lopsided grin and turned expectantly to John to put the pieces together.

"The cut was made after," John grasped.

"After she was dead?"

"Must have been. The only question is, how did the tetanus enter the dead woman's system? You want to help, right?" Sherlock asked, addressing John.

"Of course."

"Connie Prince's background – family history, everything. Give me data."

John nodded and backed out of the room.

"Alex, go home," Sherlock ordered distractedly.

Alex was startled that Sherlock had even acknowledged that she entered the room.

"It's fine, I can help you if you want," she smiled kindly.

"No, I don't want. Do as I tell you," Sherlock snapped.

Alex recoiled at his tone having not being used to having it directed at her. Lestrade looked between the two nervously.

"O-okay, then. Um, I will do some research on the laptop at home," Alex tried again with another smile albeit a bit weaker.

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

Blushing, Alex swallowed and looked down at her feet feeling much like when she was five and smashed a Petrie dish in the kitchen.

"Okay," she whispered and turned to catch a cab back to Baker Street.

Lestrade watched Alex go and faced Sherlock angrily.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Sherlock looked at him innocently.

"All of what?"

"That! You of all people should know how sensitive Alex is, you can't talk to her like that. She only wanted to help," Lestrade chastised.

"I know what I am doing;" Sherlock replied disinterestedly, "Now I have a feeling that you have something to say about the case. Let it all out Inspector."

Lestrade scowled at the patronizing tone but answered nonetheless.

"There is something we haven't thought of."

"Is there?"

"Yes. Why is he _doing_ this, the bomber? If this woman's death was suspicious, why point it out?"

"Good Samaritan," Sherlock quipped from over his shoulder.

"-who press-gangs suicide bombers?" Lestrade persisted.

"Bad Samaritan."

"I'm – I'm serious, Sherlock. Listen: I'm cutting you slack here; I'm trusting you – but out there somewhere, some poor bastard's covered in Semtex and is just waiting for you to solve the puzzle. So just tell me: what are we dealing with?"

Sherlock struggled to keep the smile off his face as he said,

"Something new."

* * *

><p>Once Alex had arrived at Baker Street, she veered straight to the laptop and, ignoring all of Sherlock's orders, typed in <em>Connie Prince Fan sites <em>into the search bar. Alex grinned as she clicked on the top hit and printed out sheet after sheet of indispensable gossip that was sure to help with the case.

Alex then pinned up the photographs and newspaper articles from the Carl Powers and Janus Cars cases up on the mirror. She got out her coloured ribbon that she had used on the lithium case and smiled when she opened the lid of the container.

_Lithium!_

Logan's handwriting looped around in fancy font on the front of a post it note. Of course, the last time they had been used was on the whiteboard when she and Logan were investigating. There was something strange going on with him, Alex knew. It was probably just his sisters driving him insane, but he had never talked to her like that before. Ever. It seemed like everyone was against her, even Sherlock.

A sudden slam of the door alerted Alex to Sherlock's arrival.

She held her breath and waited for the onslaught.

"Alex!"

And there it was.

Alex pulled herself to her feet and shuffled downstairs sheepishly. She looked at Sherlock.

"Yes?"

"I told you that you couldn't investigate this!" Sherlock exclaimed angrily.

"I'm not, I just put the stuff up for you," Alex defended half-heartedly.

Sherlock grumbled something under his breath.

"Just go and sit over there where I can see you and be quiet."

Alex did as she was told and sat rigidly in the armchair in the cold since the windows were still smashed.

Lestrade gave her a sympathetic smile to which she returned. It wasn't Lestrade's fault, she couldn't take her temper out on him.

Sherlock began to pace up and down and stare at the web of the cases that Alex had concocted.

"Connection, connection, connection. There _must_ be a connection. Carl Powers, killed twenty years ago. The bomber _knew_ him; _admitted_ that he knew him. The bomber's iPhone was in stationery from the Czech Republic. First hostage from Cornwall; the second from London; the third from Yorkshire, judging by her accent. What's he doing – working his way round the world? Showing off?"

"Maybe he's just-" Alex began.

"Be quiet Alex," Sherlock cut off and scrambled for his phone when it began to ring.

Alex sighed and turned so that she was facing the wall. Lestrade sent her another sad look.

"Hello?"

_"You're enjoying this, aren't you? Joining the ... dots," _the old woman narrated, "_Three hours: boom ... boom."_

Lestrade and Sherlock exchanged glances.

* * *

><p>Over in Connie Prince's house, John was led into the living room by Connie's brother and Raoul de Santos, the houseboy. The room itself was lushly furnished with and elegant chandelier hanging perfectly from the pristinely white ceiling. The deluxe sofa sat exactly in the middle of the room as if it had been measured away from the walls with a ruler, compass, protractor and any other geometric tool that you could think of.<p>

The dining room behind had mahogany tall backed chairs around a marble table with napkins arranged in intricate designs next to the shimmering cutlery.

To John, all of this seemed too much of a house rather than a home. Everything was too arranged and organised to look lived in at all. It looked and felt more like a showroom and John had to smile to himself when he compared the place to the cosy, lived-in 221B Baker Street.

John sat down on the sofa.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" Raoul asked politely.

"Err, no. No, thanks," John declined.

Raoul and Kenny shared a smile before the houseboy exited the room, the smile falling off his face.

"Raoul is my rock. I don't think I could have managed," Kenny looked to the floor, overcome slightly by grief, "We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

"And – and to the public, Mr. Prince."

A hairless cat prowled across the sofa and crawled onto John's lap as he began to talk. John lifted the cat up carefully and placed it on the floor- anywhere away from his knee would do.

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses."

John gritted his teeth in frustration as the damn cat climbed up onto his lap again.

"Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears," Kenny finished.

"Absolutely."

* * *

><p>"Great. ... Thank you. Thanks again," Sherlock expressed into his phone as he ended the call back in Baker Street.<p>

"It was a real shame. Alex and I liked her. She taught you how to do your colours," Mrs Hudson said as she stared sadly at the picture of Connie pinned to the wall.

"Colours?" Lestrade frowned.

"You know, what goes best with what. I should never wear cerise, apparently. Drains me."

Alex grinned, she could still hear the conversation from her position facing the wall, she just couldn't see it.

Sherlock finished up deleting the call log of whoever he was talking to and walked over to join Lestrade and Mrs Hudson in front of the mirror.

"Who was that?"

"Home office," Sherlock replied simply.

"Home office?!" Lestrade exclaimed in surprise.

"Well, Home Secretary, actually. Owes me a favour. Well, he owes Alex a favour but I took credit for that. It wouldn't do to have the nation in the debt of a fourteen year old."

_Oh yeah, because it is so much better for the country to be in the debt of a genius sociopath with a tendency to shoot things when he is bored, _Alex thought sarcastically.

"She was a pretty girl but she messed about with herself too much. They all do these days," Mrs Hudson commented, still looking at the photo of Connie, "People can hardly move their faces. It's silly, isn't it?!"

Mrs Hudson giggled and Lestrade smiled politely back at her.

"Did you ever see her show?" the old lady asked, turning to Sherlock.

"Not until now."

Sherlock bent down and picked up his laptop from the sofa. He flipped open the lid and Connie Prince's show came on.

_"You look pasty, love!" Connie's voice commented._

"Oh, we have seen this episode, Alex. It's the one with the fifty pound dress!" Mrs Hudson beamed.

_"Rained everyday but one," Kenny replied sullenly as he looked out over the audience._

"That's the brother. No love lost there, if you can believe the papers."

"So I gather. I've just been having a very fruitful chat with people who loved this show. Fan sites – indispensable for gossip."

_Connie motioned to her brother's clothes._

_"There's really only one thing we can do with that ensemble, don't you think, girls?"_

_Both the audience and Connie began to chant._

_"Off, off, off, off!" as she thumped Kenny on the back after every syllable._

_Kenny flinched at the rough touch but forced a fake smile for the audience._

* * *

><p>Kenny stood over on the mantel piece of the house and stared forlornly at the photograph of Connie receiving an award on the shelf.<p>

"It's more common than people think. The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un-" John looked up from his notepad in surprise as Kenny plonked down heavily on the sofa next to him.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny stated.

"Right," John replied somewhat nervously.

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely ... but it not the same without her."

"Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?" John smiled as he tried to shuffle away from Kenny.

"No."

"Right."

"You… fire away," Kenny said with a strange look on his face.

The annoying cat meowed and strutted confidently across the carpet. John watched it leave with a glare as he reached up to rub the side of his nose. As he pulled his hand away again he suddenly realised something and quickly raised his hand to his nose once more, pretending to rub it as he quietly sniffed at his fingers and looked towards the cat again. He smiled round nervously at Kenny.

"I will be two minutes, I left my um… pen in the car," John apologised and walked out of the house onto the drive.

He picked his phone up from his deep pockets and rang Sherlock. He answered on the first ring.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something. You'll need to pick up some stuff first. You got a pen?"

_"I'll remember."_

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	48. The Great Game - Part 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I do own my OC Alex, though.**

**Author's Note: Hey! This chapter turned out longer than I expected but oh well :) I hope you are all enjoying the Spring holidays!**

_Previously:_

_He smiled round nervously at Kenny._

_"I will be two minutes, I left my um… pen in the car," John apologised and walked out of the house onto the drive._

_He picked his phone up from his deep pockets and rang Sherlock. He answered on the first ring._

_"Hello?"_

_"Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something. You'll need to pick up some stuff first. You got a pen?"_

_"I will remember."_

As soon as he put the phone down, Sherlock sprang into action and ran up to the cupboard that stored those random things that nobody uses but you can't throw them in the bin. He rummaged around wildly and retrieved the camera set that Alex had gotten for her birthday a few years ago. Sherlock had a triumphant grin on his face as he turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Alex called before he managed to escape out of the door.

"To the Prince household and no- you can't come."

Alex put on her best puppy face.

"Please, Sherlock," she begged.

"No," he replied firmly and got one step further away before Lestrade stopped him.

"Let her go with you, Sherlock. She isn't going to do any harm, she has been on cases since she was a little tot," he reasoned.

Sherlock pursed his lips in displeasure as he realised that he was outvoted. His eyes flicked between Alex and Lestrade.

"Fine," he yielded, not looking happy about it in the slightest, "But don't talk, don't touch anything, don't look at anyone and don't disturb John and I."

Lestrade frowned as he saw a flash of hurt pass over Alex's face but she quickly masked it with a fake smile.

"No problem," she said as she stood up and walked over to the door.

"You've already broken rule one," Sherlock muttered under his breath and took off down the stairs.

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak but caught the small shake of Alex's head and kept quiet. He smiled and held the door open for her. Alex smiled at the kind gesture.

* * *

><p>John brought the delicate china teacup to his lips and pretended to take a sip. If someone in the house was a murderer, he was taking no chances with a possible poisoning.<p>

_Sherlock, where are you?_

John watched as Kenny primped and combed back his hair with his fingertips in front of the mirror vainly. Vanity apparently ran in the Prince genes if the brother and late sister were anything to go by.

Not a moment too soon, the front door slammed, indicating the arrival of a certain consulting detective and his niece. John placed his cup down on to the coffee table in front of his legs.

"Here he is," John said for Kenny's benefit.

"What?"

Kenny turned to see Sherlock and Alex shown in by Raoul. Sherlock had the camera equipment slung over his shoulder. Alex hung back for a moment and hovered around Raoul.

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock beamed, slipping easily into his character like a well-worn shoe.

"Yes."

"Very good to meet you."

"Yes; thank you," Kenny said in a monotone voice, obviously used to people saying that to him.

"So sorry to hear about…" Sherlock trailed off respectfully, or rather, his fake character did.

"Yes, yes, very kind," Kenny's eyes strayed to Alex, "And who is this young lady?"

Before Sherlock could make up some weird backstory that she wouldn't be able to remember, Alex spoke up,

"I'm on work experience. It was either this or a crematorium," Alex shrugged.

She didn't give her name. She knew from previous experiences that forgetting your own character's name blew everything in the case and she had a terrible memory.

Sherlock glared furiously at Alex behind his back and she ducked down to avoid eye contact.

"And I think I made the right decision," she smiled flirtatiously at Raoul who seemed to squirm under her tone.

"Shall we, err…" John prompted, pointing to the equipment.

Sherlock walked over to the sofa next to John where they laid out the cameras while Kenny resumed preening himself. Alex dejectedly broke away from Raoul to stand next to the two men and inwardly sighed. Sherlock hadn't even reacted.

"You were right. The bacteria got into her another way," John stated under his breath to Sherlock.

"Oh yes?" Sherlock smirked knowingly.

"Yes."

Sherlock turned back around to face Kenny as he picked the appropriate camera. Alex was less fast in turning and John put a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

Alex nodded but gave a subtle glance toward Sherlock. John immediately understood.

"Right. We all set?" Kenny unknowingly interrupted.

"We'll talk later," John promised and followed Sherlock over to Kenny, Alex following him.

John motioned with his head for Sherlock to take some pictures. Sherlock walked over and snapped five consecutive photographs, each getting closer to Kenny's face and each a bit more diagonal that the last.

"Not too close. I'm raw from crying," Kenny warned as he held up his hand.

The sound of a cat meowing caught the attention of the room as the hairless creature rubbed its back against Sherlock's leg.

"Oh, who's this?" Sherlock asked as he peered down at the animal.

"Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess," Kenny smiled proudly as if the pet was a prized lesser spotted leopard from the groves of the Himalayas not a skinny domestic cat.

"How nice," Alex picked up on the sarcasm in Sherlock's voice, "Was she Connie's?"

"Yes."

John bent down to pick up Sekhmet but Kenny pipped him to the post and scooped up the cat before him. Alex sent John a questioning look as he cooed over the cat and tickled its back. Alex never pictured John as a cat person.

"Sherlock? Uh, light reading?" John hinted.

"Oh, um," Sherlock thrust the flashgun forwards in Kenny's face and a beam of light burst out from it straight into Kenny's eyes, "Two point eight."

Kenny squinted against the harsh brightness, "Bloody hell. What do you think you're playing at?!"

John took this moment to reach out and rub one of the cat's paws. He lifted his fingers to his nose and sniffed. A grin surfaced on his lips as Sherlock persisted on flashing the flashgun.

"You're like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two. What's going on?" a still blinded Kenny demanded.

"Actually, I think we've _got_ what we came for. Excuse us."

"What?" Kenny asked in utter confusion.

"Sherlock," John called, "Alex."

"What?"

"We've got deadlines," John almost sang as he pulled the camera bag onto his shoulder before weaving around the sofa and exiting the house, closely followed by Sherlock and Alex.

They walked down the drive and past the wrought iron gates protecting the house onto the pavement.

"Yes! Ooh, yes!" John grinned in delight, Alex smiling with him.

"You think it was the cat," Sherlock smiled, "It wasn't the cat."

"What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant."

"Lovely idea."

"No," John countered again, adamant that he was right, "he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet – bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have-"

"I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm," Sherlock interrupted, "but it's too random and too clever for the brother."

"He murdered his sister for her money."

"Did he?" Sherlock asked, knowing full well the answer was negative.

"Didn't he?"

"No. It was revenge."

"Revenge? Who wanted revenge?" Alex asked with wide eyes, revenge was always fun.

Sherlock shot her a dark look for talking and she clammed up. He answered nonetheless,

"Your new muse apparently. Is Logan out of the picture now? Good, I don't like him. See you have broken two of the rules now by distracting me and talking! Anyway, Raoul, the houseboy wanted revenge. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so-"

John stopped, and him being the leader of the party, everyone else did too.

"No, wait, wait. Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?"

"Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. You have that to look forward to when you marry him Alessandra," Alex flinched at the full name but didn't want to break rule one again, "No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here."

Sherlock took off down the path leaving John and Alex stood behind soaking in the information that they had just been spat. John's face held a murderous look as he watched his friend go.

* * *

><p>Sherlock entered Scotland Yard with his coat billowing behind him, brandishing a file,<p>

"Raoul de Santos is your killer," he announced dramatically as John and Alex caught up with him, "Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin. We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself."

"So how'd he do it?" Lestrade asked.

"Botox injection," Sherlock replied simply.

"Botox?"

"Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's internet purchases," he pointed to the folder, "He has been bulk ordering Botox for months. Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose."

"You sure about this?" Lestrade checked.

"I'm sure."

"All right – my office."

However, as Sherlock made to follow Lestrade, he was pulled back by two hands. One belonged to John Watson and one to Alex Holmes, both looked angry as hell.

"Hey, Sherlock. How long?" John asked surprisingly calmly.

"What?"

"How long have you known?"

"Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake," Sherlock made to move away again but was pulled back even more forcefully than the first time.

"No, but Sherl… The hostage… the old woman. She's been there all this time!"

"I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!"

Alex grabbed hold of the lapel of Sherlock's shirt furiously as he tried to get away. Sherlock opened his mouth but Alex cut him off,

"Don't even give me that _breaking the rules _crap because I really couldn't care less at the moment. If you knew all along, why the hell didn't you say anything? How could you just let her stay like that, she must be terrified! How would you feel if that was Grandma?" Alex hissed through clenched teeth.

"If you are that concerned about her being scared, why are you wasting time berating me out here when we could be in there," Sherlock pointed to the office that Lestrade was in, "saving her?"

Alex let go of his collar and gave him a rough push into the office, her eyes still clouded with anger. She had gotten it into her head that it was her Grandma strapped to the bomb now. Her dear, sweet Grandma sat in her armchair reading her maths theories.

John and Alex followed Sherlock into the office. Sherlock logged onto the laptop on the desk and loaded up his website _the Science of Deduction. _He went to the forum page and typed,

**Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, Botox.**

As soon as he clicked _submit_, the pink iPhone rang. Sherlock answered the call and pressed it to his ear.

"_Help me!"_ the old woman cried in anguish.

"Tell us where you are. Address," Sherlock ordered firmly and clearly.

"_He was so… his voice…"_

"No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. _Nothing._"

Alex chewed the inside of her mouth and found herself latching onto John's sleeve in anticipation.

"_He sounded so ... soft."_

The call filled with a mechanical drone of the call ending.

"Hello?" Sherlock tried.

There was no answer.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock lowered the phone and stared ahead of him. It wasn't hard to deduce what had happened. Lestrade sighed and ran a hand over his face as John gripped onto the back of the chair for support. Alex's legs felt like jelly and she didn't know how she was still standing, she just knew that she was still holding onto John. She also knew that it should have been Sherlock that she was holding onto but it didn't feel right anymore.

* * *

><p>Alex yawned as she curled up on the comfy sofa with the faded blanket around her. She hadn't slept that well last night, there was just too much on her mind.<p>

Sherlock and John sat opposite each other in their armchairs watching the news.

"_The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people-"_

"Whole block of flats," John murmured.

"-_is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company-"_

"_He_ certainly gets about."

Alex sighed; John's attempt at normal banter was failing dramatically.

"Well, obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case," Sherlock scrunched up his nose in a fit of petulance and slammed his hand down on the mute button. His annoyed face suddenly morphed into a thoughtful one, however, as something crossed his mind, "He killed the old lady because she started to describe him. Just once, he put himself in the firing line."

"What do you mean?" John asked with a nod from Alex seeing as she wasn't allowed to speak still.

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact," Sherlock explained with a sort of distance to his voice as if he was physically talking from the halls of his mind palace.

"Like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?" John's face crumpled in disgust.

Sherlock however was the complete opposite.

"Novel," he breathed.

John looked at his friend incredulously but, deciding that it would only cause an unnecessary argument, he placed his attention on the television.

"Huh," he pointed to the screen.

The story had moved from the gas explosion to _'Connie Prince: man arrested'. _The screen showed a horde of reporters and journalists and photographers creating a chaotic mass of clicking cameras and screaming questions for Raoul de Santos to battle through as he was escorted through into a police car.

"Taking his time this time," Sherlock muttered as he stared down at the phone.

John cleared his throat and Alex shuffled uncomfortably in her seat.

"Anything on the Carl Powers case?" John asked for lack of anything else to say to break the awkward silence.

"Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?" he suggested.

"The thought had occurred."

"So why's he doing this, then – playing this game with you? Do you think he wants to be caught?"

"I think he wants to be distracted."

"I hope you'll be very happy together," John snarled as he stood to his feet and headed to the kitchen before a full-blown confrontation could transpire.

"Sorry, what?"

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives… Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake," Sherlock's voice began to rise to meet John's.

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes, very. Is that news to you?" Sherlock asked, genuinely curious now.

"No, no," John smiled bitterly.

"I have disappointed you," Sherlock stated.

"That's good – that's a good deduction, yeah," John replied sarcastically, "And I'm not the only one that you have disappointed, I can tell you that for a fact."

John gave Sherlock a pointed look and both knew that he was referring to Alex. The girl in question attempted to sink lower into the sofa; she hated it when they fought.

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them," the iPhone suddenly chimed as a message came through, "Excellent."

The message showed a picture of the Thames with a backdrop of buildings behind it.

"View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo. You check the papers; I'll look online," Sherlock looked up when he saw that John was making no efforts to move whatsoever, "Oh, you're angry with me, so you won't help."

John shrugged.

"Not much cop, this caring lark," Sherlock smiled slightly as he searched on his mobile.

John stood still for a moment as he contemplated what to do. He was thoroughly ticked off with Sherlock, that was for sure. He had crossed the line once too many times but… perhaps that was just the way he was and he was never going to change. John sighed. It was Alex who made up his mind, however, when she got up and walked over to him to whisper,

"Look past the arse sat there and think about that poor, innocent person strapped to the bomb this time."

She gave him a small smile and threw a newspaper at him while she took one of her own.

"Archway suicide," John read out.

"Ten a penny."

John threw him a look.

"Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington," Alex narrated, feeling that it was okay to relay information.

"Ah. Man found on the train line – Andrew West," John continued.

"Nothing!" Sherlock exclaimed and almost threw his phone across the room. He decided to put it to better use instead and phoned Lestrade.

"It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?"

Alex and John watched in slight discomfort as Sherlock's face rapidly changed from super annoyed to overjoyed in a matter of seconds.

"Brilliant, I am on my way."

Sherlock ended the call and hopped over the coffee table on the way out.

"John, are you coming? Alex, if you are, remember no talking, interrupting, distracting, touching or wandering off!" he called from halfway down the stairs.

Alex was about to follow when John grabbed her shoulder.

"We'll catch you up in ten minutes," John replied and shut the door.

Sherlock no doubt rolled his eyes and dived for the nearest taxi.

Alex looked at John nervously.

"Right you, sit down," he said, nodding to his armchair.

Alex took a seat while John sat in Sherlock's.

"Now, what is going on between you and your idiot uncle?" John asked with a smile.

"It doesn't matter," Alex brushed off.

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

"Look, I grew up with Harry as a sister, I can do this for hours," John grinned.

Alex sighed and sank back into the chair.

"From the beginning," John said as he did the same.

"Well, since the beginning of this case and the end of the last few, Sherlock has been quite… distant with me."

"I noticed."

"I thought that he was just being him but- this is going to sound really pretentious- he was always like that with everybody else but me. He was always nice and you know what I mean. But now he is treating me worse than he treats everyone else. I am not allowed to speak or input or help, I have had my phone taken off me, he barely talks to me and he just… he isn't…" Alex faltered before admitting quietly, "I just don't know what I have done wrong."

John watched the young girl carefully as she stumbled and struggled for words and leaned forward.

"You have done absolutely _nothing _wrong. Don't think that this is your fault," there was a moment of silence, "That's why you pretended to flirt with Raoul isn't it? You wanted Sherlock to notice you."

"I just wish he'd make up his mind, that's all. He's done this before, all throughout my childhood. He switches it on and off and I just want some consistency for once, y'know. I don't think it's all that much to ask," Alex looked down at her feet.

"Do you remember the second case that we ever did, with the lotus flowers and the Tong?" Alex nodded, unsure where John was taking this, "When you were hurt, Sherlock was faced with a choice of going after Shan or staying with you. Either way, you would have survived because I was there but he stayed with you. All the time that you were unconscious and kept forgetting the previous day, he never left your side. We had to physically force him back to the flat for an hour. Then, there was the first case we went on-"

"A Study in Pink."

John smiled at the blog reference, "Yeah. When you thought that Sherlock was dead. Your reaction shows _you _obviously care about him. All you have to do is look back to the things that you both have been through to see how much you care about each other, even if Sherlock has a weird way of showing it."

Alex digested his words, "Thanks, John. I'm sure everything will be alright once this case is over."

"Maybe he just needs a wakeup call," John said.

"Come on, then. We better get there before lady muck throws a paddy," she laughed, getting to her feet.

John chuckled and followed her out.

"You are a lot smarter than anyone gives you credit for, John Watson."

John smirked to himself, it wasn't often that anyone called him smart when he lived with Sherlock Holmes.

**Author's Note: Hello! Aw, John helping Alex. I loved writing that scene :D**

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**Please Review**

**-Abby**

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	49. The Great Game - Part 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show, I only own Alex :) All rights go to the BBC.**

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I hope you are all well :) Here is the next chapter and thanks to emilybrock101 for the awesome idea for Alex's little scheme!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Come on, then. We better get there before lady muck throws a paddy," she laughed, getting to her feet._

_John chuckled and followed her out._

_"You are a lot smarter than anyone gives you credit for, John Watson."_

_John smirked to himself, it wasn't often that anyone called him smart when he lived with Sherlock Holmes._

The pair shared a cab to the crime scene and walked down to the waterside.

"Hello," she smiled as she bounded over to the body that they were crowded around.

Lestrade gave her a smile.

Alex looked to Sherlock hoping for a reaction but was once again disappointed.

_Just remember what John said._

"D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?" Lestrade asked Sherlock as the detective pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

"Must be. Odd, though," Sherlock looked at the pink iPhone in his hand, "he hasn't been in touch yet."

"But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah?"

"Yes."

"You have a way with words, Detective Inspector," Alex chirped.

He sent her a sheepish grin.

"Have either of you two got any ideas, then?" he asked, addressing Sherlock and Alex.

Alex opened her mouth but Sherlock beat her to it.

"Seven ... so far."

_"Seven?!"_

Sherlock ignored the outburst and bent down to the dead man's face, pulling out his magnifier to examine it closely. He then lifted up a ripped breast pocket on the man's shirt and regarded it for a moment. He straightened up, only to squat down again near the feet of the man and pull off the sock.

"That's disgusting," Alex said as she curled up her lip.

Sherlock sent her a glare (which she pointedly ignored) and examined the heels and toes of the foot. He straightened up and snapped the magnifier shut before turning to John and jerking his head toward the corpse. John looked at Lestrade for permission.

"Go on," he nodded.

John knelt down next to the body and looked narrowly at the skin while Sherlock pulled out his mobile.

"He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?" he asked, looking up at Lestrade.

"Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated."

"Oh, yes, I'd agree. There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here," John narrated as he pointed out the purple marks.

"Fingertips," Sherlock murmured.

"What?" Alex questioned as she turned back from where she was watching John.

"In his late thirties, I'd say. Not in the best condition," John continued, oblivious to Sherlock's new revelation.

"He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data," the side of Sherlock's mouth quirked up in a grin, "But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake."

"What?"

"We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates-"

"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?" Lestrade interrupted.

"It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds."

Alex's eyes widened, now _that_ was a lot of money.

"Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?"

"Delicate," Alex said sarcastically.

"Okay, what has it got to do with _the dearly departed_?" Lestrade corrected with an eye roll.

Sherlock grinned, "Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?"

"You used to read that to me when I was little and stayed at yours for the night," Alex remembered.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Sherlock turned to her and looked her in the eye with no malice whatsoever as he remembered the nights when Alex stayed with him.

"What can you remember from the story?"

"It was a horror story. Wasn't the Golem made of mud or something and he was huge?"

"Clay," Sherlock corrected snippily, and the moment was gone as the cold came back, "It's also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world. That's his trademark style."

"So this is a _hit_?"

"Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands."

"But what has this got to do with that painting? I don't see-"

"You do _see_ – you just don't _observe_!"

"All right, all right, girls, calm down," John said, making Alex laugh, "Sherlock? D'you want to take us through it?"

Sherlock hesitated but couldn't resist a little more showing off as he pointed to the body.

"What do we know about this corpse? The killer's not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap. They're both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie-"

"Tube driver?" Lestrade suggested.

Sherlock shot him a look.

"Security guard?" John tried.

"More likely. That'll be borne out by his backside."

"Backside?!"

"Flabby. You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts."

"Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died," Alex pointed out.

"No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution," Sherlock took a ball of scrunched up paper, "Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognisably…"

"Tickets?"

"Ticket _stubs_. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing. Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake," Sherlock finished with a flourish.

"Fantastic," John breathed admiringly.

"Meretricious."

"And a Happy New Year!" Lestrade exclaimed.

Alex burst out in giggles and high-fived the Detective Inspector.

"Poor sod," John said, killing the mood.

"I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character," Lestrade said as he walked over to Sherlock.

"Pointless. You'll never find him. But I know a man who can."

"Who?"

"Me," Sherlock grinned smugly and took off up the bank to hail a cab, "And I'm going to need the files on the Burnham case from your office."

"Arrogant, much?" Alex yelled after him.

Sherlock didn't even turn around.

"Will you stop ignoring me?!" Alex shouted again.

He _still _didn't reply.

Alex groaned and thumped her head against her hand as John took after Sherlock dutifully.

Alex, not wanting to share a cab with her uncle being the way he was, she bent down next to the body. On the white shirt sleeve, there was a black mark unlike the mud stains from the river. It was jet black. Alex rolled up the sleeve and winced when she saw a blurred, sore tattoo.

**26, 11, 13, 12**

The numbers were running and had a scarlet fuzz around the edge of them. It had been done in last day or so, the exact time that he was murdered.

"The murderer did it…" Alex mumbled to herself.

She took out a pen from her pocket and wrote the numbers down on her hand so that she wouldn't forget. She straightened up and remembered what she was about to do before she had seen the tattoo.

Running up to the road, Alex held out her hand and tried to hail a cab.

* * *

><p>"Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?" Sherlock muttered in the back of the taxi next to John. He leaned forward to tell the taxi driver, "Waterloo Bridge."<p>

"Where now? The Gallery?" John asked.

"In a bit."

"The Hickman's contemporary art, isn't it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?"

"Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need date," he said as he ripped off a piece of paper and wrote a note on it. He then folded it inside a fifty pound note, "Stop! You wait here. I won't be a moment."

The cab screeched to a halt and mounted the pavement. Sherlock climbed out and nimbly hopped over the railings next to the road.

"Sherlock-" John moaned exasperatedly as he ignored Sherlock's orders and followed him over the fence, albeit not as agilely.

Sherlock walked over to a young woman sat on a bench surrounded by a few small possessions and holding a sign saying HUNGRY AND HOMELESS.

"Change? Any change?" the homeless woman begged Sherlock.

"What for?"

"Cup of tea, of course."

"Here you go – fifty," Sherlock said as he handed her the bank note with the note concealed inside.

"Thanks," the homeless girl smiled.

Sherlock nodded, turned on his heel and headed back to the taxi with a clueless John behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"Investing," Sherlock replied simply, "Now we need to go to Scotland Yard to pick up the Burnham case files."

"What is the Burnham case?" John questioned as he got back into the cab.

"The Burnham case took place four years ago. In it, a man named Jackson Burnham was found murdered presumably by his ex-wife. But he displayed the same symptoms as Alex Woodbridge, therefore, the wife couldn't have inflicted the fingertip injury because she was nowhere near strong enough to leave bruised like that with just her fingers while keeping the husband still enough to asphyxiate him. She was released from custody and the charges were dropped but the murderer was never found. I suspected that The Golem was to blame but he is incredibly difficult to find due to the fact that he takes off back to goodness knows where straight after a hit so there is no time to track him. However, now he is working under orders from our bomber so he will be obliged to stick around. Anyway, what kind of game is it if the opponent is never found?" Sherlock finished, taking a deep breath.

John was silent as he absorbed the facts.

"So," he began slowly, "this Golem character is still in London?"

"Yes."

"Then why do we need the Burnham files? Why don't we just go after him?"

"Because I need to check something out. I need to know where Jackson Burnham was murdered, I must have deleted it," Sherlock looked down in frustration.

"Why does that make a difference?" John frowned

"I thought you said that you were familiar with The Golem story?"

"No, I said that I knew _of_ it, not the details."

"When The Golem murders in one place, he leaves. But if he is employed to take someone out in the place where he has murdered before, he will go back to the site of the first killing. Most assassins are very superstitious, believing that luck and all sorts of folly will allow them to carry out their killings without any hitches. Returning to the same place is one of their rituals," Sherlock explained.

"So, say if Jackson Burnham was murdered in Covent Garden, after The Golem killed Alex Woodbridge, he would return to the same place?"

"That is the general idea, though I doubt he would assassinate anyone in such a public place."

The cab came to a stop at Scotland Yard and John paid as Sherlock climbed out.

* * *

><p>Alex stood by the side of the road, seething. It seemed that the Tube had been temporarily closed and every single person in London was using a taxi to commute. Not one that she tried to flag down stopped for her, each and every one of them being full.<p>

She didn't have any change on her for the bus, either. So, she had no choice but to walk along the chain of bars by the side of the river and take the short cut she knew to a taxi rank. However, as she was walking, a boy bumped into her, stinking drunk.

"What are you playing at?!" she yelled, pushing him off her.

It took one glance to realise that it was Raz.

"Oh, for God's sake," she exclaimed. "What are doing?"

"Gettin' drunk," he slurred.

"It's Tuesday morning!"

"So?"

Alex shook her head at him.

"Where's Lee?" he asked, looking around, stumbling as he did so.

She caught him under the arms, "Lee's with you?"

Lee had been their childhood friend, he, Raz, Logan, and Alex had been in a clique together. No sooner had the words left Raz's mouth, than Lee emerged from the pub, apologising to people behind him. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Alex.

"Whoa, blast from the past! What are you doing here?" he asked, grinning as he took Lee from her hold and took over the task of keeping him upright.

"I couldn't get a taxi. What are you doing? I knew drink was Raz's thing but you?"

"No, I'm just here to take him home. Making sure he doesn't talk himself into trouble and end up being shanked."

Raz mumbled something unintelligible and seemed to fall asleep on Lee's shoulder.

"You say you couldn't get a cab?" Lee asked, adjusting his grip on Raz.

"Yeah, there's something wrong with the Tube apparently."

"I can drop you off somewhere if you'd like," he suggested. "I've got the bike."

"And also the alcoholic," Alex pointed out.

"I can sit him down here and he'll still be there when I get back."

Alex pondered the notion. Sherlock and Mycroft would definitely disapprove, Lee and Raz had gotten her into enough trouble as a child. And the thought of Sherlock seeing her ride up on a motorbike with a seventeen year-old was one she knew would not go down well.

"No, you know, I'd better not. Sherlock wouldn't be too happy," Alex said, feeling a little sad as she said it. "It's was good seeing you."

"Oh well, maybe next time."

Alex carried on walking along the path, but only got halfway before turning back. A lapse in judgement for a second was all it took.

"Actually, I might take you up on that."

**Massive thank you to: tinuviel21, Xin0Lan, rycbar15, DonnaWatson, fmxc17, Rose Tomlinson, Bulletpr00f Years, jokerharley, Guest**, **emilybrock101, animechick247, GottaLoveTen, loveinfinity, Nostalgic Beauty, Abby'sfavofan for reviewing! Replies have been or will be sent to you within the next hour :D**

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	50. The Great Game - Part 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! I am so sorry for the lack of update but I got sick and then had no internet for what felt like forever :(. All problems are fixed now though and updates shall continue to be regular :) Thank you for sticking with me!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex pondered the notion. Sherlock and Mycroft would definitely disapprove, Lee and Raz had gotten her into enough trouble as a child. And the thought of Sherlock seeing her ride up on a motorbike with a seventeen year-old was one she knew would not go down well._

_"No, you know, I'd better not. Sherlock wouldn't be too happy," Alex said, feeling a little sad as she said it. "It's was good seeing you."_

_"Oh well, maybe next time."_

_Alex carried on walking along the path, but only got halfway before turning back. A lapse in judgement for a second was all it took._

_"Actually, I might take you up on that."_

The bike had been Lee's pride and joy from the second he turned seventeen. It was clear how much he loved it, and how much he had changed when he held out his hand to help Alex on the back.

"Hold on," he said. "Really don't want to be responsible for your death."

"After you were responsible for my broken arm?"

"That was Raz."

He had started slowly first, letting Alex get used to the sensation, then gained speed gradually. It didn't help as the traffic was worse than usual, but he did his best.

The closer they got to Scotland Yard, the more Alex's heart was hammering and the more she was beginning to think this was a bad idea. It wasn't until they got right to the entrance, however, that Alex told him to turn around.

"Huh?"

"Please!"

Lee grumbled but complied as he swerved the bike to the right and did a three-point turn, mounting the pavement momentarily as he did it. He pressed the accelerator down back the way that they had come and brought the beast to a halt at the front of an alleyway.

"Thank you," Alex mumbled as she hopped off and leaned against the wall of the secluded street.

"What's up, don't want Sherlock to see you with me?" he asked.

"Not you, the bike. I thought it would be a good idea, get his attention. Obviously, it wasn't."

"Having trouble, you two?"

"No," Alex shook her head. "It's fine, I'm just being stupid."

Alex rifled in her pockets and pulled out a fifty pound note.

"Here, petrol money."

Lee's eyes went wide, "Petrol doesn't cost that much!" he spluttered.

Alex smiled and pressed the note into his hand.

"You're a mate and… don't be a stranger, yeah?"

Lee's hand curled around the note and gave Alex a grin, "Thanks."

"You're a lot different from when we were kids," Alex remarked.

Lee tilted his head in agreement.

"Yeah, I was a bit of a tosser wasn't I?"

"Just a bit," Alex laughed, "Right, I had best be off, _without_ the motorbike this time."

"I will walk you if you want," Lee offered.

"It's fine, thank you anyway."

Alex began to walk down the path when she turned back to Lee.

"You ought to come out with Logan and I one night. I know a restaurant that will give us free meals. Bring a girl along with you, we can have a double date," Alex said and continued on her way.

"I might just do that!"

Alex giggled to herself and rounded the corner.

She didn't manage to get to Scotland Yard however, because as she came up the gate, John and Sherlock burst out from the doors and headed for a cab.

"Wait!" Alex called as she jogged over to them.

"Where have you been?" John asked suspiciously as she came to a halt beside him.

"I just had to drop my bag off at home, it was killing my shoulder," Alex lied.

John nodded as a cab responded to Sherlock's outstretched arm. The three clambered in.

"So are we going to Vauxhall Arches now?" John asked.

"Eh?" Alex frowned, having not been there for the boy's conversation.

"The Golem killed Jackson Burnham under Vauxhall Arches so that is apparently where he is supposed to be now," John explained.

Alex nodded.

"So going back to my question: are we going there now?"

"No, we have to go to the gallery first," Sherlock said, "I need to get more of the facts."

The taxi pulled up outside the Hickman Gallery and Sherlock climbed out. Alex and John were about to do the same when Sherlock stopped them.

"No. I need you two to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address."

"Okay."

* * *

><p>Alex followed John as they were led into Alex Woodbridge's bedroom by his flatmate Julie. The room was on the attic floor with lime green walls and the carpet a mess with clutter strewn across its entire surface. That, accompanied by the slanted ceiling gave the room a homely feel, full of character.<p>

"It reminds me of home," Alex whispered to John.

John looked around the messy room himself and nodded with a smile as he saw the resemblance. It was better than Connie Prince's house by any means.

"We'd been sharing about a year. Just sharing," Julie assured them as she went to stand by the bed.

"Mmm," John murmured as he walked over to a large object covered by a white dust sheet and pointed at it, "May I?"

"Yeah."

John brushed his hand over the sheet but accidentally sent the whole thing sprawling to the floor, revealing a large professional telescope.

"Sorry," John said apologetically, "Stargazer was he?"

"God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time," the woman looked down at her feet sadly, "He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. He was, err, never much of a one for hoovering."

Alex placed a comforting hand on Julie's shoulder and gave her a small smile of reassurance.

"What about art? Did he know anything about that?" John asked, a little gentler now that the grief was getting to Julie.

"It was just a job, you know?"

"Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?"

"No," Julie straightened as a thought suddenly struck her, "We had a break-in, though."

"Hmm? When?" John asked urgently.

"Last night. There was nothing taken. Oh – there _was_ a message left for Alex on the landline."

"Who was it from?" Alex questioned, still keeping a hand on Julie's arm.

"Well, I can play it for you if you like. I'll get the phone."

"Please."

Julie left the room through the door and her footsteps were heard as she made her way down the stairs. Alxe and John took the time to look around Alex's belongings.

"Back again," Julie announced as she came back into the room.

The woman held out the phone and pressed the button to play the message.

_"Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when-"_ the message was cut short there.

"Professor Cairns?"

"No, no idea, sorry."

"We could try ringing back," Alex suggested.

"Well, no good. I mean, I've had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know."

John and Alex nodded consolingly as Julie left the room once again and left the duo to it. They didn't have much time to confer, though, as John's phone trilled a text alert.

"Sarah?" Alex asked cheekily.

"Mycroft," John replied as he fiddled with his mobile.

Alex's face wrinkled in disgust, "Urgh, John, he's my _uncle_. That's gross!"

"Not like that. He keeps badgering me about that Andrew West bloke, look," John held out the phone screen for Alex to read.

**RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS  
>Have you spoken to West's<br>fiancée yet?  
>MH<strong>

John sighed, "I suppose we had better go and speak to this woman then."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile in the gallery, a darkened shadow echoed the shape of a slim woman onto the white wall behind her. The showroom was empty, waiting in anticipation for the viewing happening soon. The woman walked forward but suddenly stopped as she realised that another person was in the room. She turned to the security guard that was stood facing the centre piece Vermeer Painting, his back to her.<p>

"Don't you have something to be doing?" she asked, authority clear in her voice.

"Just admiring the view," the security guard replied in a deep and familiar voice.

"Yes, lovely now get back to work. We open tonight."

The security guard turned to show the face of a certain consulting detective.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Sherlock asked as he began to walk towards the woman.

"What?"

"That the painting is a fake."

"What?" her tone was now much more serious.

"It's a fake. It has to be. It is the only logical explanation. You are in charge aren't you, Miss Wenceslas?" Sherlock asked almost mockingly.

"Who are you?" Miss Wenceslas snapped.

"Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so someone sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?"

"_Golem_? What the hell are you talking about?!" she said with a slight laugh of disbelief.

"Are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?"

"It is not a fake."

"It _is _a fake," Sherlock countered, "I don't know why, but there is something wrong with it, there _has_ to be."

"What the hell are you on about? You know I can have you sacked on the spot," Miss Wenceslas threatened.

"Not a problem."

Raising an eyebrow, she replied with, "No?"

"No, I don't work here, you see. I just popped in to give you some friendly advice."

"How did you get in?"

"Please," Sherlock smirked self-satisfactorily.

"I want to know."

"The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight," Sherlock said mysteriously as he began to back away from Miss Wenceslas and threw off his hat to perch on the velvet rope post.

"Who are you?" Miss Wenceslas called.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Sherlock grinned to himself, that sounded like something Alex would say.

"You should be," he threw off his stolen security guard jacket and opened the fire exit door, "Have a nice day!"

* * *

><p>"Are you sure that it is this street?" Alex asked sceptically as John and her arrived at a run-down council estate.<p>

"Yup," John replied confidently.

His face fell slightly as he looked up from the file in his hand and saw the broken windows and graffiti that covered the street that they were staring down.

"Well, this is the address that your Uncle Mycroft gave us," John said less confidently, checking the paperwork again.

"Let's have a look," Alex said as she was handed the file.

Her eyes skimmed over the paragraphs until she found the handwritten address at the bottom.

"Ohh, no. That," she pointed to the letter '_a_' "That is meant to be an 'e'. And _that_," she pointed to the letter '_d_' "is meant to be a 't'."

John inspected the letters closely.

"But that looks nothing like a 't'," he frowned.

"Uncle Mycroft likes to loop all of his letters. It is supposed to make it look fancier but I think it looks ridiculous," Alex remarked.

John had to agree as they double backed and followed the now translated address (which turned out to be two terrace streets away).

"You should see when he does a crossword," Alex continued, "The page looks like a blooming spider web."

John laughed.

"It seems like you are a lot happier now," he commented with a smile.

"Yeah… thanks for that by the way," Alex cleared her throat uncomfortably, embarrassed by the situation.

John nodded understandingly and wisely changed the subject.

"So what do you reckon about this case, then?"

"I have no idea. Mr West could've sold the plans for money and killed for it… or someone could have killed him for having them in the first place so they could take them for themselves," Alex suggested.

"Both logical explanations," John said as they arrived outside the right house this time.

Alex reached out and rapped her knuckles against the red door. It wasn't long until a woman answered.

"Yes?" she asked timidly, keeping the door closed as much as she could without shutting it completely.

"Hello, I'm Alex Holmes and this is Dr John Watson. We are here to ask you about-"

"Westie," the blonde woman whispered.

Alex nodded.

The woman pulled back and flipped the chain off the door to allow John and Alex in. Alex edged through the door and took a proper look at the woman who was leading them up the stairs. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from grief. The tip of her nose was raw from where she had rubbed it constantly and a spot of dry blood lay on her bottom lip. Alex knew the signs of a mourning woman; she had lived through them herself.

They were led into the flat and Lucy (Westie's fiancé) motioned for them to sit on the sofa. She sat next to Alex.

There was a moment of silence.

"Where you expecting someone else?" Alex asked, nodding her head to the two teacups on the coffee table.

One cup had been drank, the other lay cold and untouched.

"No. I made it this morning. Sometimes… I forget… there is no-one else to make tea for," Lucy said sadly, looking down so that the two strangers sat on her sofa did not have to see her tears.

Alex grimaced in understanding. When her mother had first died, Alex would still go to Maybelline's room to wake her up on a morning. Only to find no-one to wake.

"He wouldn't," Lucy suddenly spoke, the strength of her voice a sharp contrast from before, "I know what you are going to ask- he just wouldn't."

"Stranger things have happened," John said softly.

"Westie wasn't a traitor! That's a horrible thing to say!"

"I'm sorry, but you must understand-"

"That's what they think isn't it, his bosses?" Lucy's eyes filled with salty water once more.

John nodded, "He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts-"

"_Everyone's _got debts!" Lucy interrupted in a choked voice, "And Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country!"

Alex noticed that the woman's nostrils were beginning to flair in anger and decided to intervene before John got a slap.

"Can you err…? Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?" Alex asked.

"We were having a night in," Lucy said, the anger fading as she recalled the events. As horrible as it was, a sad woman was better than a livid one, "Just… watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he just said that he had to go and see someone."

"And you have no idea who?" John asked.

Lucy shook her head as her face crumpled and a whimper slipped through her brave façade that she had been wearing. Alex swapped onto the other sofa and put an arm around Lucy's shoulders as she cried.

_After this case, I'm going to do something fun. Something where I don't have to comfort mourning women._

Alex looked over to John's grim face and saw that he could do with a dose of fun, also. Either that or a dose of vodka.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: DonnaWatson, Rose Tomlinson, Guest, rycbar15, GottaLoveTen, fmxc15, jokerharley1980, tinueviel21, doctorsherlockgirl, Nostalgic Beauty, Bulletpr00f Years, Abby'sfavofan, Kell-Bells34 and Xin0Lan for reviewing, I love each one of you!<strong>

**Just one last message before I go, I have uploaded a new Sherlock story called Water if you would like to check it out. It is only going to be a few chapters long but hopefully it should be good. Also, for those who have read my doctor who story, I am really not happy with it and will be taking it down.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**x**


	51. The Great Game - Part 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I'm doing pretty well with an update every night at the moment! I don't know how long I can keep it up, though. Enjoy it while it lasts. Thanks for the support.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"And you have no idea who?" John asked._

_Lucy shook her head as her face crumpled and a whimper slipped through her brave façade that she had been wearing. Alex put an arm around Lucy's shoulders as she cried._

_After this case, I am going to have a nice meal out with Logan and have some fun, Alex thought, somewhere where I won't have to comfort any more mourning people._

_Alex looked over to John's grim face and saw that he could do with a dose of fun, also. Either that or a dose of vodka._

Once Lucy was consoled enough so as not to cause a stir if she went outside, Alex and John were shown out. Alex was just on the bottom step outside the house when a voice spoke up.

"Oh, hi Luce. You okay, love?" the voice asked in a chirpy voice.

Turning, Alex saw that the voice belonged to a middle-aged man with a rucksack and wheeling along a shiny blue bike. John and Alex stepped back to allow the man entry up the steps to the door.

"Yeah," Lucy responded, her voice flat, indicating the fact that she was the complete opposite.

"Who are these?" the man asked, rather rudely in Alex's opinion, as he looked them up and down.

"Alex Holmes and John Watson," Alex replied before Lucy could.

Even Alex was surprised by the sharpness and coldness of her voice. There was just something about the man that she didn't quite like. Perhaps it was the way that he spoke about John and her as if they weren't even there.

"Sorry," Lucy apologised for the lack of introduction, "This is my brother, Joe. John and Alex are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe."

Joe eyed Alex suspiciously.

"You with the police?" he asked.

"Sort of, yeah," John replied, taking a somewhat defensive stance in front of Alex. It seemed that he had seen the glare exchanged by the two and was unnerved by it.

"Isn't your assistant a little young?"

Alex's glare intensified, "If it makes any difference to the death of your brother-in-law at all, I'm on work experience."

"Right… well…" he said, slightly taken aback by Alex's tone. "Tell your manager to get his team off their arses, will you? It is bloody ridiculous."

"I-" Alex began.

"We'll do our best," John interrupted wisely and put a hand on Alex's shoulder to steer her away from Joe before a full-blown argument could erupt.

That didn't stop John glaring at Joe for a moment, Joe giving as good as he got.

The two eventually broke their staring competition after a few long seconds. Joe put a reassuring arm around his sister's shoulder briefly before disappearing into the house with his bike.

John cleared his throat, "Well, thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry."

Alex took a look at Lucy's red rimmed eyes and crinkled forehead, and forgot about her petty, short-lived vendetta against Joe. What really mattered was the heart-broken lady in front of the red door. Alex reached out a hand and placed it gently in Lucy's.

John waited on the corner patiently.

"It's natural to grieve for him, you know. I know people always say that and it's always 'ooh, it will all be okay once you have had a good cry', or 'Well they are in a better place now', but it's all fine and good saying that but what really counts is you believing it yourself," Alex said softly, rubbing the pad of her thumb against Lucy's cold skin.

She looked up at Alex from where she was hiding her tears.

"He didn't steal those things, Miss Holmes," Lucy said determinedly, albeit tearfully, "I knew Westie, he was a good man… He was my good man."

Once again, Lucy's face crumpled and Alex dived forward to wrap her arms around the grieving woman. Lucy's tears were wet against Alex's ear, but she didn't complain, she knew that the woman needed to breakdown to build herself up. And, taking a look at the body wracking with sobs, she was certainly breaking down.

After a good five minutes, Lucy finally withdrew from Alex's comforting embrace and leaned against the door.

"I am so sorry, Miss Holmes. I-I didn't mean to-" Lucy started.

"Don't be silly. I bet you feel slightly more normal now?" Alex smiled with a questioning lilt to her voice.

Lucy grimaced but nodded all the same.

"A little," she agreed.

"Well, I've got to go but," Alex fished around in her pocket and wrote on a post it found there, "here is my number in case you think of anything or just want to chat."

Alex handed out the note and Lucy smiled.

"You seem so grown up for your age."

"My mum died when I was little. I suppose I learnt to comfort people from the way that people comforted me. Well, you know what they say, every cloud has a silver lining."

Alex turned down the path and closed the small gate. As Lucy turned to go back into her house, Alex called over her shoulder.

"Oh and Lucy?"

"Hmm?" Lucy asked, turning back to face Alex with raised eyebrows.

"It gets better," Alex smiled and continued off to meet John on the corner of the street.

"We've been summoned," John said as he held out his mobile once she had reached him.

Alex frowned but grinned as she saw the text that John had received-

**221B, come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway- SH**

"Jesus, he is so annoying," John grumbled, pocketing his phone and thrusting his hand out to an oncoming cab.

"Yeah," Alex replied fondly.

"Are you two on better terms, then?"

"He isn't with me, but I am with him, if that makes any sense."

John looked at her blankly, "Not really."

Alex chuckled and bobbed her head to the cab that had pulled up, impatient taxi driver and all.

"Sorry, mate," John apologised and sidled into the back seat, Alex close behind him.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long at all to get back to Baker Street, and when they did, Sherlock was already stood waiting for them. He was stood next to the homeless woman from earlier that day.<p>

As soon as John and Alex climbed out of the cab, Sherlock confronted them immediately. John, however, spoke before he could even open his mouth.

"Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art," he said, answering the unsaid question.

"And?" Sherlock prompted.

"And…"

"Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?" Sherlock rattled off as he walked back over to the homeless woman.

"No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer."

Sherlock stopped and pointed at the taxi, "Hold that cab."

Alex suddenly perked up from her silence. She recognised the homeless girl behind Sherlock from somewhere. She jogged over.

"Do I know you?" Alex asked, peering closer at the woman's face under the street lamp.

The woman gave a half grin, "You have a good memory. You were about six when we last met."

Alex frowned. _What was she…? _Wait! Alex's eyes widened, "Maisy Maxwell?"

Maisy gave a proud nod and held out a note in her hand, "Give that to your uncle and if he needs my services again, he knows where to find me."

Alex took the note in her palm and smiled. "You should come in for coffee one day."

Maisy shook her head and turned on her heel, disappearing off into the night.

Alex looked at the paper in her hand and saw that the words _Vauxhall Arches_ were scribbled on. Sherlock read it over her shoulder and grinned to himself. He plucked up the note and showed it to John as the three of them got back into the cab.

"I was right," Sherlock said smugly as John read the note.

"If you were so confident, why did you need a second opinion?" John pointed out.

"I needed to have solid, concrete proof. There is no point in blundering in the wrong place and letting him know that we are on to him."

"So we are going to Vauxhall Arches now?" Alex asked, more than a little confused as to what was going on.

"Yes."

"And what are we going to find there?"

"An infamous and deadly assassin."

"Okay," Alex said, as if it was one of the most normal things in the world.

* * *

><p>Alex trailed behind slightly, fiddling with her shoe as Sherlock and John lead the way up the alley. She just about overheard Sherlock speaking to John.<p>

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

John looked at his friend and saw him gazing up at the stars twinkling impressively against the murky background.

"I thought you didn't care about things like that," John mocked.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it," he turned back to Alex, "Come on, you don't want to be around here on your own."

Alex finished tying her shoelace and jogged to slot safely between Sherlock and John.

"Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat – a Professor Cairns?" John relayed, stopping as they came to a fork in the road.

"This way," Sherlock pointed into the Arches.

"Nice. Nice part of town," John grumbled sarcastically, "Err, any time you wanna explain.

"Homeless network – really is indispensable. My eyes and ears all over the city."

"Oh, that's clever. So you scratch their backs and-"

"Yes, then I disinfect myself," Sherlock finished wryly.

"Do you remember the driver from the lithium case that you two planted drugs on to get Lestrade out of the way?" Alex asked John.

"Yeah."

"He's one of the best of the homeless network. Either him or Maisy."

Alex waved her torch around absent-mindedly, drawing patterns on the walls when the beam fell upon a shadow of a man. A tall man. And by tall, she meant _tall._

"Sherlock, John," she hissed, pointing to the shadow.

Sherlock grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her behind a pillar with him and John. She was once again placed between the two of them.

"What's he doing sleeping rough?" John asked in a hushed voice.

"Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much," Sherlock whispered back, peering around the pillar.

John suddenly patted his pocket and moaned as he realised that they were empty.

"Shi-"

"What?" Alex frowned.

"I wish I'd-"

John was cut off by his pistol dropping into his hand, retrieved from Sherlock's pocket.

"Don't mention it," Sherlock said.

Suddenly, the giant man broke into a run, sprinting at full speed.

"Come on!" Sherlock ordered loudly.

Alex grinned to herself as her legs began to move, this was her territory. Long distance, she was awful at. Sprinting was a different story.

She willed her legs to pick up the pace, landing lightly on her tiptoes and stretching her legs as widely as they would go between footfalls to increase the distance. She was gaining on him. Her arms raked the air away and forced her forwards.

The Golem was heading for a car waiting at the end of the street, if only she could get to it... she was an arm length away!

But it was too late.

The Golem slammed the door and crushed his foot against the pedals, the car speeding off into the night. In one last, feeble attempt, Alex dived forward recklessly. Her fingertips grazed the back of the car but it continued to roar away. Alex fell to the floor, scraping her knees and palms.

Sherlock and John caught up with her as she dusted herself down.

"No, no, no, no! It'll take us weeks to find him again!" Sherlock exclaimed in anguish.

"Or not. I have an idea where he might be going," John stated, glad that Sherlock needed _his_ help for once.

"What?"

"I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on."

* * *

><p>The beam of the projector was blinding for anyone unfortunate (or stupid) to be in its path. Thankfully, Professor Cairns was safely facing away from the light and looking at the board to which it was projecting on. She stood alone in the dark planetarium theatre, fiddling with the film that was showing and trying to find the right section.<p>

_"Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it eleven times," _the video narrated, zooming in on a picture of Jupiter.

"Yes, we know that," Professor Cairns droned in a bored tone of voice as she fast-forwarded it.

_"Titan is the largest moon."_

"Come on, Neptune, where're you hiding?" she muttered to herself, fast-forwarding again.

The Professor suddenly jumped as a loud bang was heard from behind her. It sounded like a door slamming, but who could have slammed it?

"Tom? Is that you?" she called up into the projector room, to which she got no reply.

_"Many are actually long dead, exploded into supernovas... discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in eighteen forty-six."_

Professor Cairns was so enthralled in her task of finding the section of tape that she wanted, that she didn't see the tall figure stand up behind her. Or the hand reaching out to her delicate neck. And so, when the hand clamped around her mouth and nose, she was powerless to resist as the life was squeezed out of her.

As she flailed in a meagre attempt to free herself from her attacker, her hand dragged across several buttons on the control panel, causing the video to blip and spool.

_"-composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us-"_

At that moment, Sherlock burst through the double doors, John and Alex close behind him and bellowed, "GOLEM!" at the top of his voice.

John aimed his pistol at the man.

The theatre's only light from the projector shut off as Professor Cairns brushed against it, plunging the theatre into darkness.

"Alex! John!" Sherlock shouted into the dark.

"I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!" John declared and hurried off.

"Who are you working for this time Dzundza?"

"Professor Cairns?" Alex called out hesitantly, her childish, feminine voice a sharp comparison to Sherlock and John.

Yet another reminder that she didn't belong there.

Dread seeped into Alex at the lack of response and she bravely ran in the general direction of where the Golem was.

"Alex? Where are you?!" Sherlock yelled.

Alex didn't reply, she could hear breathing next to her. The darkness gave her somewhat of an advantage but if she shouted back, she would betray her position entirely. Unfortunately, her breathing did that for her.

A hand clasped around her, but something took her by surprise. The Golem wasn't going for her neck or mouth, only her wrist. He wasn't trying to kill her.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"Stop!" Alex cried out as he twisted her bone.

"ALEX!?"

"He's over here!" she screamed back.

Two sets of heavy footsteps came in her direction and the pressure on her wrist ceased. Instead, she received a sharp slap across her face, sending her flying back into the rows of chairs. The Golem ran past her down onto the stage.

Alex felt a hand gently touch her face.

"Alex?" it was Sherlock.

"I'm fine, he's on the stage. Get him!" she informed him with a nudge.

Then, Sherlock did something very unexpected – considering his attitude to her recently – and pressed a kiss to her forehead before bolting off to confront the Golem.

_I'm no use to them, I can't fight, evidently, _Alex thought. Her eyes trailed to the form of Professor Cairns instead, _but I can do something useful._

Alex crawled over to the woman and laid her on her back. John's first aid class came back to her. She bent down and spoke in both of Cairns' ears.

"Can you hear me?" Alex asked loudly.

There was no reply.

Alex pressed her fingers to Cairn's wrist waiting for the tell-tale throb, but couldn't find one.

"Okay," Alex murmured to herself as she knotted her hands together and placed them over Cairn's heart.

_One, two, three, four, five, six…. twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine, thirty._

Alex then nipped Cairns nose and blew into the woman's mouth.

"Come on, come on," Alex chanted as she tried for a pulse again without prevail.

Accepting that she was dead, Alex closed Cairns' eyes and turned back to the fight going on between John, Sherlock and the Golem. Or that was going on. The Golem was nowhere to be seen. Until he came tearing past Alex and standing behind her.

_Why is he…?_

Alex's eyes suddenly widened as she dropped to her knees. No sooner had she done so, than a bullet whizzed over her crouched head. If she hadn't have moved, it would have sunk directly into her lung. Instead, it buried itself in the wall as the Golem sprinted out of the planetarium.

Alex frowned. He stood behind her because he knew that John would shoot in the dark, so he wanted her dead. But he wouldn't kill her himself, he had the chance. So maybe he was ordered not to…

"Are you both okay?" Alex called out to John and Sherlock.

"We're fine. Are you?" John shouted back.

"Yeah. Cairns is dead, though."

Both men came jogging up the steps two at a time and inspected the body.

"Same bruising but snapped the neck when we arrived," John concluded from his crouched position near the body.

He straightened up.

"Where to now?" Alex asked, turning to Sherlock expectantly.

"The Hickman Gallery."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to all who reviewed. Replies shave already been sent to you.<strong>

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	52. The Great Game - Part 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey! I am very sorry but I may not be able to update any of my stories again until Wednesday when my exams are over. I am writing as much as I can tonight because tomorrow is hardcore maths revision time, joy(!)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Both men came jogging up the steps two at a time and inspected the body._

_"Same bruising but snapped the neck when we arrived," John concluded from his crouched position near the body._

_He straightened up._

_"Where to now?" Alex asked, turning to Sherlock expectantly._

_"The Hickman Gallery."_

It was light by the time Alex, Sherlock and John arrived at the Hickman Gallery. Lestrade had already been called and so had Miss Wenceslas.

"It's a fake. It has to be," Sherlock muttered as he tapped furiously on his mobile.

"That painting has been subjected to every test known to science," Miss Wenceslas retorted shortly.

"It's a very good fake, then," Sherlock looked up from his phone to glare at the woman, "You know about this, don't you? This is you, isn't it?"

Miss Wenceslas shook her head in exasperation and turned to Lestrade, "Inspector, my time is being wasted. Would you mind showing yourself and your friends out?"

At that moment, a ringing echoed through the air, reverberating around the gallery. The bomber was calling again. Sherlock tapped to answer it and placed it on loudspeaker.

"The painting is a fake. It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed," Sherlock almost shouted into the phone.

There was no reply apart from a faint breathing sound.

Alex pressed her lips tightly together as she remembered that the person whose breathing that was, was strapped up with a sniper aimed at them. She looked at John and saw that the same thought was running through his mind too.

"Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed."

There was still no answer.

"Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?" Sherlock asked.

Alex will never forget the moment when the voice answered. The shaky, tremulous voice of a young girl.

_"Ten."_

Alex clapped a hand to her mouth as she heard it. No. Not a kid. Not a little girl.

John and Lestrade exchanged mutual looks of horror.

"It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a kid!" Lestrade exclaimed.

"What did he say?" John asked, his face pale.

""Ten,"" Sherlock replied distractedly as his eyes scraped over the surface of the painting.

_"Nine,"_ the girl's voice whispered.

Alex suddenly frowned. That voice… sounded familiar. She… she knew that voice.

"John, do you know that voice?" Alex asked urgently.

John shook his head.

"It's a countdown. He's giving me time," Sherlock stated.

"Jesus!"

"The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?"

Alex was immersed in her own thoughts. She _knew _that voice. Argh, what was it?! She had to know! It was a girl, a young girl. Who had she spoken to that age recently…

_"Eight."_

"No," Alex breathed.

Lestrade looked at her and put a hand on her shoulder, "Sherlock will solve it."

"No… n-no. The girl. She- I know her!" Alex cried out and ran forward.

She snatched the phone out of Sherlock's hand.

"April!? April, it is Alex. Listen to me, don't be scared. Do exactly as he tells you to, okay. Do exactly what you are told and we will come and find you, I promise," Alex rushed out, panic flowing through her veins.

"Who's April?" Lestrade questioned.

"My friend," Alex turned to Miss Wenceslas with a terrifying look on her face. John and Lestrade took a step back as Alex grabbed the woman by the neck of her dress and spoke directly into her face, "You listen to me. This kid will die. April will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!"

Miss Wenceslas flinched back.

_"Seven,"_ April's petrified voice trembled.

"No, Alex. I have to figure it out on my own. Otherwise, it doesn't count."

"Well then bloody well figure it out!"

"I am! It must be possible. Must be staring me in the face," Sherlock continued to scan the painting.

_"Six…"_

Alex put the phone close to her mouth, "Look, bomber. Listen to me. I don't care what issues you have or what messed up mush you have for a brain, even you must know that killing an innocent child is barbaric. Please, just let her go! You said that I was," Alex shuddered, "_a different kind of fun_. Then let me take her place, okay. Just don't kill her… please don't kill her."

"It's no good!" John yelled in despair.

"Woodbridge knew, but how?"

_"Five_."

"It's speeding up!"

"Sherlock," John prompted urgently.

Sherlock's eyes screwed shut and suddenly snapped open, his face radiating enlightenment as the penny dropped and he saw the three dots in the sky of the painting.

"Oh!"

_"Four,"_ April's voice was getting ever more desperate.

"In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" Sherlock exclaimed jovially.

"Get on with it!" Alex shouted.

_"Three ..."_

"What's brilliant? What is?"

"This is beautiful. I love this!" Sherlock laughed in delight.

_"T-two."_

_"Sherlock!" _Alex screamed furiously.

Sherlock plucked the phone out her hands and yelled into it, "The Van Buren Supernova!"

A horrible silence fell over the room. Alex's eyes were trained on the phone, not even daring to breathe. Not April. Not again. Not like Laura.

_"Alessandra?"_

Alex dived forward and took the phone from Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"April? Are you okay? Where are you?"

_"I am… I don't know. Alessandra help me!"_ Laura cried, her voice shaky and raw.

"Keep calm. Just look out of a window and tell me what you see."

Alex heard a scuffle and the cord of a blind being pulled.

_"There are lots of buildings. I don't recognise them."_

"Look for street signs. Can you see any? What do they say?"

_"Um… one says Hackney road."_

"Brilliant. We can find you from there. Sit tight, Laura. Don't worry, you are going to be alright," Alex soothed before hanging up the phone.

Alex walked over to John and rested her head on his shoulder, an immense sense of relief washing over her. Lestrade immediately ran off to fetch April, muttering commands through his walkie-talkie.

"The Van Buren Supernova, so-called," Sherlock began to explain, "Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight."

"So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?" John grinned, him also getting slightly giddy from the relief. The sensation didn't last long, however, because John got a text from his favourite person.

**My patience is wearing thin.**

**MH**

"I need to go and see April," Alex said, reading the text.

"We'll be coming to Scotland Yard with you. We need to question Miss Liar over there first. And then from there we can go to the crime scene. Deal?" John compromised.

"Deal."

Miss Wenceslas went even paler than she already had been.

* * *

><p>It took about ten minutes to get from the gallery to Scotland Yard, and once there, Alex ran straight to Lestrade's desk.<p>

"Where is she?" Alex demanded, slamming the door open and making the blinds flap.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, "She's next door with Donovan."

Alex sent him a fleeting thankful look and proceeded as fast as she could to Donovan's office. She decided to knock so as not to scare April.

"Come in," Donovan called.

Alex pushed the door open and was immediately ambushed by a small five year old girl.

"Alessandra! You came! It was horrible! I thought I was going to die! I don't want to do that again! Don't make me do that again! That is as hard as it gets, right? Like, nothing is worse than that? Is getting a tooth out worse?" April rambled, her face pressed into Alex's jumper.

Alex kneeled down next to the girl.

"Getting a tooth taken out is nothing compared to what happened today."

"I think I was brave," April smiled proudly, "I didn't cry all that much."

"You are braver than me! I would have been bawling my eyes out," Alex exclaimed.

April's chest puffed out smugly.

Alex smiled at the girl, "So where is your mum? I would love to meet her."

"Oh, I don't live with Mum anymore," April said casually as she picked up one of the animal rubbers scattered among the floor for her to occupy herself with.

"What?"

"I live in a care home now. Jenna got really angry and hit Mum so now she is in a young offender's prostitution-"

"Institution," Alex corrected, suppressing a giggle.

"Yeah. Mum couldn't cope, so now I live in a care home."

Alex put a consoling hand on the girl's back, "Oh, April, I'm so sorry."

April turned to Alex with a beaming smile on her face, "Don't be. I love it there! There is no shouting, and I get to go on a whole load of cool computer games that they have there. My room is bigger too!"

Alex just gawped in awe of the girl in front of her. If Alex didn't have Sherlock or Mycroft, she would have been taken into care when she was six. That was only a year older than April and Alex would have been completely crushed. Yet, a small girl with a glass half full kind of mind just took it in her stride.

"Well, I had better go. Here, take this," Alex handed April a twenty pound note, "Tell your social worker to buy you something nice."

April nodded enthusiastically and gave Alex one last hug before she left.

Alex waved through the window in the door and left to go into Lestrade's office. She opened the door without knocking as usual and sat down next to John. Miss Wenceslas was sat opposite them, Lestrade at his desk and Sherlock was pacing.

"You know, it's interesting," Sherlock started, "Bohemian stationery, an assassin named after a Prague legend, and you, Miss Wenceslas. This whole case has a distinctly Czech feeling about it. Is that where this leads?"

The consulting detective looked to Lestrade, "What are we looking at, Inspector?"

"Well, um, criminal conspiracy, fraud, accessory after the fact at the very least. The murder of the old woman, all the people in the flats-"

"I didn't know anything about that!" Miss Wenceslas interrupted with a panicked look on her face, "All those things! Please believe me. I just wanted my share – the thirty million."

The woman looked down in shame and Alex felt a twang of sympathy. She had been swayed by greed, a common fault in humans. She just got greedy with the wrong person.

"I found a little old man in Argentina. Genius. I mean, really: brushwork immaculate, could fool anyone. But I didn't know how to go about convincing the world the picture was genuine. It was just an idea – a spark which he blew into a flame."

Sherlock perked up interestedly, "Who?"

"I don't know."

Lestrade gave a disbelieving chortle at the same time Alex muttered, "Likely story."

"It's true!" she insisted, "I mean, it took a long time, but eventually I was put in touch with people ... his people. Well, there was never any real contact; just messages ... whispers."

"And did those whispers have a name?" Sherlock demanded intensely as he leaned close to Miss Wenceslas's face.

The woman was stricken at the thought of ratting out her employer. He would kill her. He would make her life a living misery… but what was she going to get if she didn't tell? Life imprisonment, that's what. For all of the crimes listed by the inspector that she was being wrongly accused of. She would be better off dead.

Miss Wenceslas looked forward determinedly and gave a small nod of reassurance to herself.

"Moriarty," she whispered.

Sherlock slunk back in his chair and steepled his hands under his chin.

Alex set her jaw in anger. Moriarty was behind it again. He had been the source of so much pain over the last few months. With Jeff the cabbie, the Black Lotus, the lithium case, and now this.

"Come on, Alex. We need to get to work on the missile plans," John declared, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

She stood with him but turned to Miss Wenceslas before she left, "Thank you for telling us. I understand how hard it must be to get so deep into something that you can't get out. You will be safe now."

She then followed John out to hail a cab. As they reached the road, John brought up something.

"When you were talking to April, you called her Laura once," he mentioned.

Alex looked up at him with what she hoped to be an ignorant expression, "Really? I was under pressure; it is an easy mistake to make."

John was too smart for that.

"Laura was the girl who died during the lithium case, wasn't she?" he asked.

"Yes," Alex said quietly.

"Does April remind you of Laura?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of thick silence.

"It wasn't your fault, you know."

John had hit the nail directly on the head.

"It's just how I feel, I didn't say it had to make sense."

Before John could even speak, Alex hand hailed a cab and climbed in. Both knew that the conversation was over, cabbies were just too nosey.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: simplemusings12, Xin0Lan, rycbar15, Guest, Phantomecho, jokerharley1980, kie1993, Rose Tomlinson, GottaLoveTen and DonnaWatson for reviewing :) Replies will be sent to you in the next few minutes!<strong>

**Guest- Hey! Thanks for giving me such a lovely review :) Urgh, my exams are just... bleh. I just don't understand maths! Numbers don't make sense! Anyway, thanks again, I wish you the best of luck with your exams and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter :) x**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	53. The Great Game - Part 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Hello. Urgh, exams are being a pain so sorry for the later than usual update. Is it bad that I am only thirteen but can't wait to retire? Probably.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex wheeled around to face him, "Yes it was. I should have protected her better. I should have just answered Moriarty's stupid questions," Alex swallowed hard, "When I heard April's voice… I just thought of Laura, begging for her 'Mummy to come and save her'. At the funeral, I was treated like a hero, but I am not. I am a murderer. That girl's blood is on my hands and I will not have another's as well."_

_Before John could even speak, Alex hand hailed a cab and climbed in. Both knew that the conversation was over, cabbies were just too nosey._

The cab pulled up at Battersea outside the station and John and Alex piled out, saying a hasty thank you to the driver and pressing a five pound note into his palm.

Once the taxi had pulled away, John looked down at Alex.

"What you said earlier-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Alex interrupted firmly without even looking at him as they walked onto the line.

"If that's what you feel, then you need to talk to someone," John tried again.

"I have. You asked. I told. I talked. Now move on."

Alex picked up her pace so that she was a few steps further than John. The man grumbled at the stubborn teenager- she was too much like Sherlock.

John didn't have time to dwell on the fact, though, because coming towards them was one of the maintenance workers at the station, clad in a high visibility jacket.

"You Miss Holmes and Mr Watson?" he asked in a thick cockney accent.

Alex nodded.

The man stepped back and pointed to a spot on the track on Alex's left.

"This was where West was killed?" John assumed.

"Yeah," the man paused. "You gonna be long, you two?"

"We might be."

"You both with the police then?"

"Sort of," John replied.

Alex could tell from his tone that he was sick of people asking them that.

"I hate 'em," the maintenance worker spat.

"The police?"

"No. Jumpers."

Alex frowned. What on Earth was this guy going on about?

"People who chuck themselves in front of trains. Selfish bastards," he muttered.

"Yeah, because you must be so selfish to feel so depressed that you have no other option but to take your own life," Alex said sarcastically, looking up from the line to the man. "What monsters they must be."

"I don't care what you say. I mean it. It's all right for them. It's over in a split second – strawberry jam all over the lines. What about the drivers, hmm? They've got to live with it, haven't they?"

"So what would you prefer them to do?"

"I don't know. Do it at home or something," the man suggested.

"Yeah, so their kids find them? That is a great plan-" Alex challenged but was cut off mid-spiel by John.

"Sorry to interrupt, but you said something about strawberry jam. There is no blood on the line. Has it been cleaned off?"

"No, there wasn't that much," the man replied, relieved to get out of the argument with Alex.

"You said his head was smashed in," John reminded him.

"Well, it was, but there wasn't much blood… Well, I'll leave you to it then. Just give me a shout when you're off," he said, walking away down to his office.

John nodded as Alex bent down next to him to inspect the track.

"Must you fight with every person we encounter on a case?" John asked conversationally as he ran his fingers along the metal.

"Come on, he was asking for it. Besides, we are hopefully never going to meet again so why not vent on a complete stranger?"

John shook his head with a small smile.

"So what do we know?" Alex asked brightly.

"Hmm?"

"Be Sherlock- what do we know?"

"Right, be Sherlock: so, uh, Andrew West got on the train somewhere – or did he? There's no ticket on the body. Then how did he end up here?"

A sudden scraping of metal against metal sounded as the points on the train track changed and slid to form the new track. John and Alex exchanged glances and both squatted down to the point.

"Points."

Alex jumped at the voice and turned to see Sherlock standing over her and John.

"Yes!" John exclaimed as he stood up next to his flatmate.

"Knew you'd get there eventually. West wasn't killed here; that's why there was so little blood," Sherlock explained.

"How long have you been following us?"

"Since the start. You don't think I'd give up on a case like this just to spite my brother, do you?"

"Yes," Alex answered without missing a beat.

Sherlock gave her a look, "Come on, we have a spot of burglary to do."

"Excellent."

* * *

><p>"The missile defence plans haven't left the country, otherwise Mycroft's people would have heard about it. Despite what people think, we do still have a Secret Service," Sherlock lectured as they walked down a street that Alex had never been down before.<p>

"Yeah, I know. I've met them," John muttered.

"Which means whoever stole the memory stick can't sell it or doesn't know what to do with it. My money's on the latter. We're here."

"Which is where?" Alex asked, looking around the unfamiliar estate with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock didn't answer; he just rounded a sharp left up the steps of a house with 21A written on the side of it. He took the steps two at a time, John and Alex struggling to keep up with his strides.

"Sherlock," John hissed as Sherlock rummaged around in his pockets at the front door- always a bad sign, "What if there's someone in?"

"There isn't."

Just to prove his point, Sherlock picked the lock on the door with expert ease and barged it open with his shoulder. Alex stifled a giggle.

"Jesus," John whispered as he hurried Alex inside before following himself.

They trotted up a small flight of stairs onto the first floor and entered the living room.

"Where are we?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't I say? Joe Harrison's flat."

"Joe ...?"

Sherlock walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain, "Brother of West's fiancée," he fell to his knees and pressed his face close to the window sill. "He stole the memory stick; killed his prospective brother-in-law."

Alex walked over to her uncle and handed him his magnifier from her pocket. He took it and gave her a tiny half-smile. She nodded and looked over his shoulder to see tiny droplets of blood staining the paint.

"Why did he do it? I mean, I don't like the guy but I didn't put him down as a murderer," Alex said with a furrowed brow.

Before Sherlock could respond, the sound of the front door opening travelled into the room. Alex's eyes widened.

"Ask him yourself."

John reached into his back pocket to retrieve his gun and motioned for Alex to go and stand near Sherlock. She did as she was told.

John slowly edged towards the door and quickened his pace until he was at the top of the stairs. While Joe was busy adjusting his bike, he didn't see John until the gun was pointed at his head. In a feeble attempt, he picked up his bicycle to hurl at John.

"Don't, don't," John advised, his aim still perfectly steady.

Realising he was beaten, Joe put his bike down with a resigned sigh and hung his head.

"I think you had better come and sit down, Mr Harrison."

Joe walked in the direction of John's outstretched finger into the living room submissively. He dropped into the sofa and spied Alex.

"What are you doing here? It is bad enough with these two; I don't want a child here."

"I don't think you are in the position to start barking out orders, do you?"

Joe reluctantly shook his head and tried to sink further back into the tatty red sofa. He was silent for a few moments until, "It wasn't meant to…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Oh God," Joe moaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "What's Lucy going to say?"

"Why did you kill him?" John asked bluntly.

"It was an accident."

Sherlock scoffed.

"I _swear_ it was," Joe insisted.

"But stealing the plans for the missile defence programme wasn't an accident, was it?" Sherlock countered sternly.

"I started dealing drugs," Joe relented. "I mean, the bike thing's a great cover, right? I don't know – I don't know how it started; I just got out of my depth. I owed people thousands – serious people. Then at Westie's engagement do, he starts talking about his job. I mean, usually he's so careful; but that night after a few pints he really opened up. He told me about these missile plans – beyond top secret. He showed me the memory stick; he waved it in front of me. You hear about these things getting lost, ending up on rubbish tips and what-not. And there it was, and I thought ... well, I thought it could be worth a fortune. It was pretty easy to get the thing off him, he was so plastered. Next time I saw him, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew."

Joe looked up at John with painful guilt written all over his face.

"What happened?"

"He wouldn't leave. I told him to go, but he wasn't having any of it. So… I pushed him. I wasn't meant to push him that hard, but he lost his footing and fell backwards down the steps. He landed funny and he wasn't moving. He didn't even moan, he just laid there. I was going to phone for an ambulance, honestly, I was!"

"But it was too late?" Alex filled in.

Joe nodded, "I just didn't have a clue what to do, so I dragged him in 'ere, and I just sat in the dark, thinking."

"When a neat little idea popped into your head."

_Joe hauled Westie across to the window, grunting. Perfectly timed, a train pulled up on the tracks outside, its brakes screeching as it braked. Joe dragged Westie out of the window frame and tugged him forcefully across the extension roof. Pulling him over the top of the wall, he stepped across onto the roof of the train and dragged Andrew West's motionless body over, settling it into a position along the slightly curved roof so that it wouldn't fall off as soon as the train started to move again. That would defeat the point. He stepped back onto the wall just in time as the train's horn blared and continued along the track, Westie's body being carried along with it._

"Carrying Andrew West way away from here. His body would have gone on for ages if the train hadn't met a stretch of track that curved," Sherlock said as he pulled back the grubby curtain once more.

"And points."

"Exactly."

"Do you have it then?" Alex questioned. "The memory stick, do you still have it? Or have you sold it to pay for your little bags of white powder?"

Joe flinched at the harshness in Alex's voice but responded, "I still have it."

"Fetch it," Alex ordered, her tone much like that of an owner trying to teach a disobedient dog.

John and Sherlock smirked as Joe walked over to the kitchenette in the other room to 'fetch it'.

"Distraction over, the game continues," Sherlock whispered quietly as he came to stand closer to Alex and John.

"Well, maybe that's over, too. We've heard nothing from the bomber," John suggested.

"Oh, I hope so," Alex said.

Sherlock shook his head, "Five pips, remember? It's a countdown. We've only had four."

* * *

><p>Alex lay on the sofa in 221B, bundled up with the thick blanket and one of Sherlock's spare coats since the windows were still broken from the 'gas explosion'. The bitter air seeped in through the flimsy boards put up and the gas still hadn't been turned on again so putting the central heating on was a no-go.<p>

John was sat at the desk next to her, typing away on his blog on the laptop. Sherlock sat in the leather armchair facing the television that he was watching, or rather, correcting the Jeremy Kyle Show.

"No, no, no! Of course he's not the boy's father!" he cried in outrage, motioning to the TV, "Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!"

Sighing in resignation, he folded his arms again and huffed.

"I knew it was dangerous," John murmured, turning to see what the commotion was.

"Hmm?"

"Getting you into crap telly."

Alex laughed and snuggled further down into her nest of blankets.

"Hmm. Not a patch on Connie Prince," Sherlock said.

"Have you given Mycroft the memory stick yet?" John asked suddenly as the thought popped into his head.

"Yep. He was over the moon. Threatened me with a knighthood – again."

"That is a grand total of eight times now," Alex commented, carving another bar into the tally chart on the wall behind her.

"Did you include the case with polyester tie?"

Alex carved another bar, "Nine."

"I'm still waiting, you know," John spoke up, changing the subject.

"For what?"

"For you to admit that a little knowledge of the solar system and you'd have cleared up the fake painting a lot quicker."

"You would have rescued April a hell of a lot faster," Alex nodded along with John.

"Didn't do _you two_ any good, did it?"

"No, but we're not the world's only consulting detective," John pointed out.

Sherlock's lips quirked up into a grin at that, "No."

"I won't be in for tea. I'm going to Sarah's. There's still some of that risotto left in the fridge," John said as he closed the lid of his laptop and stood up.

"Mmm!"

Alex looked at Sherlock, that wasn't usually the response when someone mentioned food to her uncle.

"Uh, milk. We need milk," John suddenly remembered.

"I'll get some."

Both John and Alex did a double take in disbelief and exclaimed in unison, "Really?"

"Really."

"And some beans, then?"

"Mm," Sherlock responded distantly, his eyes still glued to the screen.

Alex left her sanctuary of warmth to lock the door after John went out.

"It seems crap telly may have been the saviour we have been looking for," she remarked, gesturing to Sherlock actually agreeing to go shopping.

John chuckled, "I won't be back too late. Don't go wandering with this bomber out there."

"I won't, I promise," she reassured him. "Have a nice evening."

John smiled at her as he left down the stairs. Alex turned the key in the lock and popped her head into the living room to Sherlock.

"I'm going to go to bed. These last few days have been draining to say the least."

Sherlock nodded and waved a dismissive hand in her direction.

Alex turned and left up to her bedroom.

Sherlock waited until he heard her door shut to snap his attention from the television and pick up the laptop from beside the armchair.

He opened the lid and brought up his website, _the Science of Deduction._ He clicked on the forum page and typed,

_Found. The Bruce-Partington plans. Please collect._

He grinned as he thought up the perfect rendezvous.

_The pool. Midnight._

Sherlock stood up and pocketed the gun from the top drawer before quietly turning the key and sneaking out of the door without Alex being alerted.

If this bomber was anything like he thought he was, Sherlock didn't want Alex within fifty miles of him. Sherlock would much prefer Alex to be tucked up safely in her bed blissfully unaware until the morning when the whole business was over.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Alex lay upstairs on her bed trying to fall asleep. But failing.<p>

She just felt too psyched, too restless. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt like she should be doing something. She didn't know what, but she should be doing _something_ instead of lying there in vain hope of sleep.

She groaned and slumped over to her desk. If she could find something to occupy herself with, maybe the restless feeling would go away.

She noticed the several burn marks in the wood, making her grin when she remembered how they got there. However, another thing that caught her eye on the desk was the scrap pieces of paper that she had written the numbers down on. The numbers on the lotus flowers and on the dead man's arm.

13, 15, 14, 31, 18, 10, 7, 1, 6, 11

27, 2, 7, 30, 32, 13, 4, 15, 6, 44, 33

26, 11, 13, 12

But there was one that Alex couldn't remember putting there. The writing was not one she recognised, it was fancy and looped but not Mycroft's.

15, 14, 9, 10, 18

At that moment, a vibrating was heard from Sherlock's room.

Alex grumbled, "Sherlock, your phone's ringing!"

There was no answer from downstairs.

Alex pulled herself to her feet and opened the door into Sherlock's room. She picked up his mobile off his bed.

"Sherlo-" she stopped short.

Looking down at the small screen of his blackberry was:

_Time 11:20_

_Sender: Unknown_

_Message:_

_This is your final chance, Alex_ _x_

Alex swallowed hard and licked her lips. This was getting out of hand. This was about her. _She _was meant to get this, not Sherlock.

Alex set her jaw in determination and took the mobile into her room. She cleared everything apart from the numbers of her desk with a swift sweep of her arm, everything crashing to the ground.

She flopped down into the desk chair and got to business putting dates on the numbers and trying to connect them somehow.

"The first one was found shortly before I got the message from the bomber…" Alex trailed off, thoughts whirling around her head.

She took out the paper with the messages written on and let her hands move of their own accord, slowly piecing together the puzzle. She stared in dawning realisation as the messages appeared alongside the numbers they were matched with. The numbers represented the letters in the message.

**H**ello a**ga**in, **m**y **bri**llia**n**t l**i**ttle Hol**m**es - Birmingham

Alex frowned. What was she supposed to make of that?

"Just do the rest," she mumbled to herself.

H**a**ve you n**o**t fi**gur**ed it out y**e**t? T**s**k-T**s**k **Al**essandra Ho**l**mes Tsk-Tsk - Sausage roll

Hello, my bea**uti**ful baby Holme**s** - suit

This is yo**ur** fin**al** ch**a**nce - Laura

Alex dropped the pen in her hand as she fell back against the back of the chair. It suddenly made complete sense.

Her mind flashed back to the faithful night after A Study in Pink.

_"Hey, are you okay there?" a voice asked. Alex whipped around to face a man dressed in a black suit and polished shoes._

The suit.

_He kept his gentle smile as he reached into his briefcase and handed her a slightly squashed sausage roll._

The sausage roll.

_"I'm Jim," he introduced in his Irish accent. Never one to forget her manners, Alex held out her hand. "Laura," she lied smoothly._

Laura.

_"The man shook his head in disgust, "Horrible people. I'm Jim. I'm just visiting from Birmingham."_

Birmingham.

"Jim. Jim from IT. Molly's Jim!" Alex cried, "He is Moriarty! Oh my God!"

Alex dived to her feet, sending her chair flying backwards and rushed to the living room.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?!" she yelled, but to no avail.

The room was empty.

It was then that she realised that the laptop was open on Sherlock's website. Alex growled as she read the last forum post.

_The pool. Midnight._

Alex checked her watch- 11:48. She could still make it in time. Without even thinking of shoes or a coat, Alex tore down the stairs and out into the cold London night recklessly.

Even through all of the terrible scenarios running through her head, she would never have ever guessed how horrible the night was about to go.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to:<strong> **emilybrock101, loveinfinity, DonnaWatson, dorina16able, Xin0Lan, rycbar15, Rose Tomlinson, fmxc17, kie1993, EICochrane, jokerharley1980, OnceUponADeduction and BulletPr00f Years for reviewing! Replies will be sent in the next half an hour :)**

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	54. The Great Game - Part 18

_Previously:_

_She growled as she read the last forum post._

_The pool. Midnight._

_Alex checked her watch- 11:48. She could still make it in time. She had to warn Sherlock._

_Without even thinking of shoes or a coat, Alex tore down the stairs and out into the cold London night recklessly. _

_Even through all of the terrible scenarios running through her head, she would never have ever guessed how horrible the night was about to go._

Sherlock chewed the nail on his thumb as the cab approached the swimming pool. Not out of nervousness, but excitement. He was finally going to come face-to-face with the mastermind behind the ingenious cases of late. He was finally going to meet the infamous Moriarty.

The cab rolled to a stop.

"Don't know why you want to come 'ere mate," the cabbie said conversationally, "Pool closes at five. It ain't open in the middle of the night."

Sherlock gave an unamused smile and handed over the money, "I have my reasons."

The cabbie tutted – 'be mysterious then' – and drove off, leaving Sherlock with barely enough time to close the door behind him.

He stood on the pavement and checked his watch. The time was 11:45. That left time to form a backup plan in the unfortunate event that he was to be horrifically maimed or injured, but he didn't really bother with the details, they tended to be boring. This was much more exciting.

Looking up at the empty leisure centre, a smile curved Sherlock's lips as he pushed the front door open without having to pick the lock. It seemed that Moriarty had seen fit to arrive early and unlock the door, also. How courteous of him.

It was whilst bolting barefoot down the street that Alex forced herself to stop and calm down. She ducked into an alleyway to her left and took three deep breaths to steady her racing heart. Bursting in half-cocked and without a plan of any kind would be plain suicidal.

She had to be creative but quick. If Sherlock had already set off before she had come downstairs, he would be at the pool by now. That meant at that very moment, Sherlock could be held at gunpoint or being tortured or- No. Sherlock was too clever for that.

He was clever, but nobody is clever enough to survive bombs strapped to their chest and snipers aimed at every angle. Not alone.

Alex bit her lip and tried to think. She willed her brain to revert from the panicked mush that it had become back to being a Holmes. But she needed someone else, she needed Logan. He was her Watson.

"Wait…" Alex breathed, "John."

Scrambling in her pockets for change, Alex sprinted across the road and slid into the urine smelling phone box. She hastily typed in John's number that she had been forced to learn by heart and held the receiver to her ear.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, tapping her foot impatiently.

_"I am sorry, the person you have called is-"_

Alex cut off the mechanical droning voice and dialled again.

"Whatever you and Sarah are doing, it can't be more important than this," she mumbled again to fill the silence.

_"I am sorry, the per-"_

Alex slammed down the phone and let it swing precariously from its cord. So John was a no-go. Boy, Alex was going to give him a good talking to after this was all over. Bottom line was, she was on her own. So she needed to concentrate on her own.

Alex looked down at her watch and choked on air. 11:50. There was no time for concentrating or thinking anymore!

She wriggled out of the phone box and burst out onto the pavement once more, almost knocking over a woman coming out of Angelo's Italian.

"Watch out!" she cried as she steadied herself.

"Yeah, sorry, whatever," Alex replied distantly.

She was too busy looking in the window of Angelo's, where the chefs through the back were sharpening long knives for the most precise slicing and dicing.

Maybe Alex didn't have a plan, but she needed a weapon.

Throwing open the door so that it slammed into the wall, Alex practically bolted onto the threshold. Angelo turned to protest at the boisterous entrance until he recognised who it was.

"Alex! What a pleasure!" he boomed as he always did, weaving through tables to make his way over to her.

"Angelo, quickly: I need the sharpest and strongest knife you have and I need it now," Alex demanded, her eyes burning intensely.

At this, Angelo dropped his smile, "I am sorry, Alex. I cannot give out knives to any of the public. Do you know how many times I have been asked that? I would get arrested."

"Please Angelo-"

He quelled her protests with a hand, "No."

"You don't understand!"

"I know what you kids get up to these days and I am saying no," Angelo insisted frustratingly calmly.

Alex took another deep breath and fought violently against the strong impulse to punch the man and steal the knife herself, "Angelo, your wife was the person who stole your mother's signet ring. If you go home now, you can catch her selling it on EBay."

Angelo's face morphed into that of pure horror. Then anger. Then fury.

"Mario! You're in charge!" he bellowed, ripping off his apron and storming out of the door.

Alex seized her opportunity and snatched the knife she had seen gleaming on the table counter. She hid it in the waistband of her jeans and pulled her t-shirt over it just as Mario came waddling out of the kitchen.

"What happened to Angelo?" he asked in bemusement.

"He's sick," Alex lied again, deciding that feeling guilty for getting Angelo's wife into trouble could wait, "Got to go!"

Alex then pushed open the door and fled once more toward the leisure centre. It wasn't that far away now, the faded advertisement for it stood on the corner of the road.

She was now at the car park. She slipped behind one of the decorative bushes and crouched low in the shrubbery. The knife was cold and smooth against her skin. Reassuring. But she would only have an advantage once. After that, she would lose the element of surprise. Without that, she was breakfast for the bombing psychopath that was Moriarty.

After checking the coast was clear, Alex crept out from her hiding place and edged in through the doors, her heart thumping in her chest.

The room was pitch black. A distant ripple of water could be heard from the pool but Alex had no idea where it was. She held out a hand and guided herself against the wall. Sherlock and Moriarty were in here somewhere.

"Sherlock?" Alex whispered, barely audible at all.

Suddenly, a sharp snap was heard as the lever for the lights was pulled up. Light flooded the room, temporarily blinding Alex. Blinking to allow her pupils to adjust to the new conditions, she saw through her lashes, a livid looking Sherlock.

"Alex! What are you doing here?" he asked angrily, grabbing her by the upper arm.

There was still no sign of Moriarty.

"Sherlock, Moriarty: he-"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and regarded his niece for a moment. He spoke gently but firmly, "Alex, you can't be here. This is dangerous. Go home and stay with Mrs Hudson or ring Mycroft."

"No," she argued, wriggling out of his grasp, "I need to help you. You are confronting the guy who has no problem blowing up innocent children and old ladies, remember? Don't try to be a hero, Sherlock. It is going to get you killed."

"Listen to me. I am your guardian and you will do what I say when I say. There is no _if, but_ or _maybe _in this equation. You're going home," Sherlock stated sternly and pulled Alex toward the door.

But when he went to pull down the handle, it jammed. He tried again. It jammed. Someone had locked it.

Moriarty.

Realising that there was no way Alex could escape; Sherlock placed his arm firmly around her shoulders and pushed her behind him as much as he could.

"Stay still, don't speak, don't leave my side," he whispered in her ear.

She nodded. Sherlock could feel her shaking slightly, she knew for he tightened his grasp on her even more.

"Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that's what it's all been for, hasn't it? All your little puzzles; making me dance – all to distract me from this," Sherlock announced loudly to the room.

Alex watched all of the possible doors for any presence. It seemed that Moriarty was enjoying toying with them. Out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw a swish of fabric through one of the doors to the changing rooms. _And the devil appears, _she thought.

But it was not Moriarty that stepped from the shadows; it was none other than John Hamish Watson.

"Evening," John mumbled, wrapped in a thick woollen coat.

Alex felt her stomach plummet. No, not John. She looked up to Sherlock, who had the same bewilderment and confusion etched on his face.

"This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?" John continued, "Bet you never saw this coming."

"John. What the hell ...?" Sherlock murmured softly, too stunned for words.

It was then that Alex really began to pay attention to John's rapid blinking. Morse code. Dot, dot, dot, dash, dash, dash, dot, dot, dot. SOS.

John pulled back the coat with a face of despair as he revealed the bomb strapped to his chest, just like the others.

"What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next? Gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer ... gottle o' geer," John's voice almost broke on the last word.

Alex couldn't blame him.

"Stop it!" Sherlock shouted once more, craning his neck to try and spot Moriarty.

"Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him," John flinched as he was told his next sentence, "I can stop John Watson too," he glanced down at the sniper laser dancing over his chest, "stop his heart."

"Who are you?"

"I gave you my number," a familiar Irish lilting voice sang, "I thought you might call. Little Alessandra knows who I am, don't you?"

Alex stiffened even more, as did Sherlock.

Then, from behind the column at the back of the pool, stepped Moriarty. He was clad in the same suit that he had been in when he and Alex had met in Birmingham. He began to stroll casually towards them with his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets.

"Is that British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock pushed Alex so that she was completely under his left arm, and raised the pistol from his pocket in his right.

"Both," Sherlock replied, taking aim at Moriarty's head.

Moriarty looked at the pistol almost pityingly and stopped with not even a smidgen of fear on his face, "Jim Moriarty. Hi! Jim? Jim from the hospital? Oh. Did I really make such a fleeting impression? But then, I suppose, that was rather the point."

Alex gave a small reassuring smile to John but frowned as she realised the sniper beam was still moving across his chest.

"Don't be silly Alessandra," Alex snapped her attention to Jim at the sound of her name, "Someone else is holding the rifle. I don't like getting my hands dirty." Jim turned back to Sherlock, "I've given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I've got going on out there in the big bad world. I'm a specialist, you see, like you."

"Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to get rid of my lover's nasty sister?" Sherlock quoted, "Dear Jim. Please will you fix it for me to disappear to South America?"

"Just so," Jim smiled self-satisfactorily.

"Consulting criminal," Sherlock breathed, "Brilliant."

"Isn't it?" Jim drawled smugly, "No-one ever gets to me – and no-one ever will."

"I did," Sherlock cocked the gun.

"You've come the closest," Jim admitted, "Now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean it is a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah, okay, I did. But the flirting's over, Sherlock;" Jim's voice became high and jaunty, "Daddy's had enough now! I've shown you what I can do. I cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play."

Alex could see John beginning to lag. Her eyes darted between Sherlock, him and the monster approaching them.

"So take this as a friendly warning, _my dear_. Back off. Although I have loved this – this little game of ours," he slipped into his London accent, "Playing Jim from I.T. Playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Alex stated quietly.

"That's what people _DO!" _Moriarty screamed the last word, his savage tone reverberating from every wall.

Alex and John cringed.

"I will stop you," Sherlock vowed softly.

"No you won't."

Sherlock looked across to John, something he had been wanting to do for a while, "You all right?"

John remained silent and kept his gaze trained on the tiled floor in front of him. Jim, ever amused by the situation, walked over to John and almost mocked at his side, "You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead."

John kept his resolute silence but gave a small nod to Sherlock and Alex. Alex didn't understand, but it seemed that Sherlock had an idea of what John was about to do.

"Take it," Sherlock thrust out his hand and handed out the memory stick protruding from his fingers. Jim looked genuinely interested as he took it from Sherlock's grasp.

"Huh? Oh! That! The missile plans!"

He brought the black stick to his lips and kissed it. He glanced down and sang, "Boring! I could have gotten these anytime."

Jim then nonchalantly threw the memory stick into the chlorine-filled water of the swimming pool. Seizing his opportunity, Moriarty being distracted, John dived forward and slammed into the consulting criminals back so that the bomb was sandwiched between the two of them.

Alex stepped back in surprise.

"Sherlock, Alex, run!" John yelled.

Jim just smiled in utter delight, "Good! Very good."

"If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up," John hissed venomously.

"Isn't he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets," Moriarty taunted, "They're so touchingly loyal. But, oops! You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

Alex gasped as a bright red laser beam landed on Sherlock's chest, directly over his heart. He wasn't looking at John or Moriarty anymore, though, he was staring at her. Her forehead. Alex looked up but couldn't see the little red dot she knew was there. John's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. He unwillingly let Jim go and raised his hands in surrender.

"Gotcha," Moriarty grinned.

As John backed off, Jim patted down his suit and straightened it out, "Westwood."

Alex shook her head in disgust at the man in front of her.

Jim lowered his hands and looked back to Sherlock with the calmest face for a murderer.

"D'you know what happens if you don't leave me alone, Sherlock, to you?"

"Oh, let me guess: I get killed?" Sherlock droned in a bored voice, his pistol still trained on Moriarty.

Jim grimaced, "N-no, don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway some day. I don't wanna rush it, though," Alex screwed her eyes shut, "I'm saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don't stop prying, I'll burn you. I will burn the _heart_ out of you."

"I have been reliably informed that I do not have one," Sherlock retorted.

"We both know that is not quite true."

Moriarty's eyes flickered toward Alex. "Don't we Alex?"

Alex didn't reply. She continued to stare at the fabric on Sherlock's suit. She couldn't make eye contact. She couldn't-

"Well that isn't very nice," Jim commented, "Now, what you are going to do, is walk over here nice and slowly away from your dear Uncle Sherlock."

Alex looked up to Sherlock in alarm as he pushed her behind him.

"No, she isnt."

"Oh! But you haven't heard the best bit!" Moriarty laughed in glee, "You're not the only one on my list, Sherlock. There's another, that girl stood beside you. For different reasons of course. I don't want to burn her. Not yet."

Alex's eyes widened as fear flooded her.

"Come on over here, Alex," Jim commanded.

Another sniper light appeared on John and Sherlock as a gentle reminder of what was at stake. Alex went to move out of Sherlock's grasp when he pulled her back even more forcefully.

"Don't you dare," he hissed in her ear, one arm tightly holding her to him.

"I have to," she whispered back.

"Five… four… three…" Moriarty counted lazily, "Two…"

Alex jammed the back of her heel into Sherlock's foot, causing him to instinctively let go of her. She bolted forward and held her arms above her head.

"Okay! Okay! He's let go!" she yelled, her voice shaky.

_What am I doing?_ _What am I doing?_ _What am I doing?_

Moriarty smirked and cut off his countdown. But he kept the snipers. He reached out and turned Alex so that she was facing Sherlock and John, her back pressed against him. Alex felt her legs go like jelly.

"She is a little gem, isn't she Sherlock?" Moriarty taunted, his breath hot on her neck.

Alex shivered as his ice cold fingers traced her jaw and cheekbones.

"The Holmes bone structure. Little bits that aren't from you lot, aren't there. The eyes are different. Lighter."

"Let her go or you will have wished that I had killed you as soon as I saw you."

Moriarty pressed his arm across Alex's neck and squeezed, causing her to gasp for breath. She clawed at his arm, spluttering and coughing. His muscle constricted, pressing further into her throat. She was beginning to feel lightheaded.

Through watery eyes, Alex saw John and Sherlock dart forward before a shot cracked through the air like a whip. She vaguely felt something ruffle the side of her hair.

Alex couldn't hold back a whimper.

"Uh-oh. Looks like our sniper is closer than you think, boys. So unless you want her to be delivered back in a thousand bloody pieces, I would stay where you are."

Alex's breath caught in her throat as Moriarty bent down and whispered, "Ciao, Alessandra Holmes."

He then propelled her forward toward Sherlock and John. She stumbled forwards. Sherlock dived forward and caught his niece.

"You shouldn't have done that, _Moriarty,_" Sherlock spat.

Jim just turned on his heel.

Sherlock kept his gun fixed on him until he heard the slam of the door, indicating his exit. He let Alex down and ran to help John out of the bomb.

"Are you alright?" he asked frantically.

"Y-yeah," John replied as Sherlock ripped off the jacket and threw it the full length of the pool.

Alex stood to trembling feet and shuffled over to where John was hunched against the wall when he beckoned her over.

"Are you okay?"

Sherlock watched them both carefully.

"Yeah, fine," she smiled weakly before turning to Sherlock, "Why's he just left?"

"I don't know, Alex. Come on, let's just get home," he replied, holding his arm out for Alex to steady herself on.

However, as they stood, the dreaded red dots from the snipers returned and so did the icy voice of Moriarty.

"Sorry, all! I'm soooooo changeable!" Moriarty exclaimed cheerfully as he swooped back into the room.

Sherlock and John immediately took a defensive stance in front of Alex.

"It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!" Moriarty laughed a bone-chilling laugh.

Sherlock locked eyes with Alex and John for a moment. And in that moment, Alex realised what he was about to do.

"Maybe my answer's crossed yours," Sherlock remarked as he aimed the gun at the bomb vest.

Alex swallowed painfully. This was it. Death. She just hoped it would be quick. She buried her face in John's shoulder and screwed her eyes shut.

Sherlock locked eyes with Moriarty. Nemesis met nemesis. Genius met genius. Sherlock curled his finger tighter around the trigger-

_"Ha-ha-ha-ha Stayin' Alive, Stayin' Alive," _suddenly began to blast out of someone's phone, reverberating off the walls and amplifying the noise.

Alex looked up from John's shoulder as they both exchanged bemused glances. Weren't they meant to be dying a few seconds ago? Oh well, death with a soundtrack.

Moriarty closed his eyes and gave a sigh of exasperation, "D'you mind if I get that?"

"No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life," Sherlock replied casually.

"Hello? ... Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" Moriarty asked into his phone rudely.

Alex pulled herself to her feet and pushed away from the wall so that she was standing next to Sherlock.

"Sorry," Moriarty mouthed at them both.

"Oh, it's fine," Sherlock mimed back sarcastically.

Jim rolled his eyes at the person on the line and turned as they spoke. Suddenly, he span on his heel in a flash, "SAY THAT AGAIN!" he took a breath to calm himself down, "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will _skin you_."

Sherlock shot a glimpse at John out of the corner of his eye.

"Wait," Jim muttered into the phone.

He let the hand holding the mobile fall to his side with a distant look on his face. He looked almost regretful.

"Sorry. Wrong day to die."

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

Moriarty looked down at his phone momentarily before looking back up at Sherlock, "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock."

Once again, his eyes flicked to Alex with a hungry glint. She felt her heart skip a beat.

"But I will take this one now."

That was when the lights flashed out and Alex felt a grubby cloth pressed roughly over her mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Uh-oh. Things are going south!<strong>

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**Sailor cyanide- Hey! Thanks for reviewing :) The last chapter went through a few rewrites so I am very glad that you liked it :). I hope you enjoy this one as well! Have a great day!**

**Ameliapond007- Hello! Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, this fanfic was only meant to be around twenty chapter but oh well haha. I think it is going to go on for a lot longer as well. Thanks for such great feedback and support and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Have a great day :)**

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	55. Gone Girl - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the British Broadcasting Centre. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! Sorry for the late update and late replies but I have had no internet since I updated the last chapter :(. But, I'm back now!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Sorry. Wrong day to die."_

_"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asked nonchalantly._

_Moriarty looked down at his phone momentarily before looking back up at Sherlock, "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock."_

_Once again, his eyes flicked to Alex with a hungry glint. She felt her heart skip a beat._

_"But I will take this one now."_

_That was when the lights flashed out and Alex felt a grubby cloth pressed roughly over her mouth._

Alex tried to scream, but the cloth was jammed too tightly against her lips. She arched her back against her captor and tried to wriggle her way out of his grasp, but it was in vain. She could hear the chaos between Sherlock and John, no doubt trying to find her in the dark.

"Alex?!" Sherlock's frantic voice yelled.

Alex couldn't have replied if she had wanted to. Whatever was on the cloth was beginning to work. Her vision began to blur, and the room spin. Her head felt like it was filled with helium. Her eyelids were beginning to shut-

_No, Alex! Stay awake! Fight him! You must stay awake!_

She brought her knee up with extreme effort and thrust back in attempt to knock the person holding her off-balance. However, in her drugged state, she might as well have thrown a paperclip at him for all the good it did.

All she knew was that she was moving. Which way, she couldn't tell.

"Alex, where are you?" John's voice joined Sherlock's.

Alex looked in the dark in the rough direction that the voices were coming from but it was too late. Her eyelashes fluttered closed and she allowed the beckoning sleep to take over her, falling back defeated against the man.

The man grunted as the girl became a deadweight in her unconscious state, not that she was very heavy. He slung her over his shoulder and silently exited through the small cabin door that laid unnoticed by the lifeguard's chair.

As soon as Alex had been bundled into the back of the van, the lights in the swimming pool flickered on again.

"Alex!" Sherlock bellowed.

He squinted as he adjusted to the light again. Once he had regained his vision, he scanned the room looking for Alex. He couldn't see her.

"Alex!" he repeated, John echoing him.

Both men pulled open the doors to the changing rooms to see if she had hidden there, but with each clang of the metal doors, they were became increasingly more panicked.

They exchanged glances of horror.

* * *

><p>Mycroft Holmes sat at his desk at his stately home at that moment, crouched over some paperwork. The day had been uneventful and frightfully quiet- you could tell that a certain niece wasn't spending the weekend there. Or Sherlock.<p>

A sudden vibration in his pocket broke his reverie. He took the ringing mobile out of his pocket and squinted as he looked down his nose at the caller ID.

_Speak of the devil_. "Sherlock," he acknowledged shortly.

_"Mycroft, something's happened and I need you to get every surveillance team that you have around London online now."_

There was something in his little brother's tone of voice that made Mycroft sit up a little straighter and allowed the pen between his thumb and finger to roll onto the desk. Sherlock's voice was void of its usual arrogance, it was almost… scared?

"What's going on? What have you done now?" he asked wearily.

_"Just help me."_

"Is it Alex?"

There was a silence. With a sick feeling creeping into his stomach, he took that silence as a yes. He was now on his feet.

"Where are you?"

_"The pool closest to Baker Street."_

* * *

><p>Already miles away, a white van trundled along a dusty country road. The van dipped and jolted at every pot hole, jerking the unconscious body in the back of the van. But the body didn't stir.<p>

* * *

><p>It didn't take long at all for Mycroft to arrive at the pool in one of his sleek black cars. It took even less time to find Sherlock, sat with his back propped against the wall of the pool with a blank expression on his face.<p>

"What's happened?" the eldest Holmes looked around, "Where is Alex?"

John turned to Mycroft from where he was pacing.

"She's gone."

"She's dead," Sherlock spoke in unison, his tone bland.

Both John and Mycroft sent him looks of shock.

"Don't say that. We are going to find her," John stated firmly, "Mycroft, your men will be in contact soon with the whereabouts of Alex and we will go and pick her up, simple."

"Don't be so naïve, John. Nothing is that simple where Moriarty is concerned," Sherlock spat.

"Well if you have a better plan, I would love to hear it!"

Sherlock's eyes flickered up to John from their unblinking position momentarily. The cogs began to move in his brain.

"Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?!" Mycroft exclaimed angrily.

John broke the staring match with Sherlock to explain the situation to Mycroft. The game, the pool, the bombs and finally, Moriarty.

Mycroft's face drained of colour. The moment John had shakily finished explaining, the sound of Mycroft's phone filled the pregnant air.

"Mycroft Holmes."

Sherlock and John watched Mycroft's face change as he listened to whoever was calling. He nodded and closed down the phone. Both men looked at him expectantly.

He sighed, "There was a blind spot. All cameras were down. Jim Moriarty's doing, I believe."

Before anyone could say respond, a crackle filled the air.

_"Well done, gold star for Uncle Mycroft!" _the unmistakable voice of Moriarty tittered.

Sherlock jumped to his feet as they looked around in alarm.

"Where are you?"

_"Far, far away."_

That was when Sherlock realised that the voice was coming over the speaker system in the leisure centre.

"Where are you taking Alex? What are you doing to her?" Sherlock demanded.

_"Don't worry; I am going to take good care of her. It would be a shame to get a scratch on that. Then again, a little splash of red might add a little colour to her face," _Moriarty taunted.

"Don't you dare."

_"Well, if you don't want her hurt, you might want to do as I say. Alex of all people knows how much pain a knife can inflict thanks to dear Dao."_

"What do you want us to do?"

_"I want you to toddle off back to 221B and sit and wait further instructions. If one of you leaves, baby Holmes loses a finger, understood?"_

Sherlock's clenched fists were shaking by his side. Mycroft was better at hiding his emotions.

"Understood," Sherlock replied through gritted teeth.

_"Good, good. Now, I have a date so if you will excuse me."_

The public address system buzzed out of life with a crackle of static. Realising that they had no option, the three men begrudgingly obliged to their orders. House-arrest it was.

* * *

><p>Alex was laid on something hard. Cold. It was painful against her bony body. A distant sound of dripping water filled her ears.<p>

Her head pounded. It felt like her brain was swimming in vinegar, stinging and floating at the same time. She felt extremely light-headed and… sick. Definitely sick.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the horribly familiar feeling of bile rising inside her throat overpowered her. She angled her head to the side and vomited violently on the stone slab floor next to her. She heaved until her convulsing stomach was empty.

She coughed and coughed, the veins protruding from her neck with the pressure. She blinked several times and frowned as she tried to recall the events of the previous few minutes but she was blank. She attempted to pull herself to a sitting position only to fall back. She was so weak.

_Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe._

"Ah, someone's awake," a sickly voice sneered from behind her.

Ignoring the wave of nausea that passed over her, she span around to face the voice. It belonged to a middle-aged man with a leather jacket, leaning casually against a doorframe.

"Where am I?" she asked in a scratchy voice.

The man threw his head back and chortled, "As if I'm going to tell you that!"

"Where is-"

"Sherlock?" the man guessed with an amused smirk still on his face. "John? Mycroft?"

Alex's eyes widened suddenly as the night's events assaulted her mind's eye. They flashed past her like a flipbook, image after image at lightning speed. The pool, Sherlock, John, the bomb, Moriarty… the cloth over her mouth.

"Please let me go," she pleaded weakly, trying to lift her head further from the ground but failing.

"You'll regain some of your strength within about an hour," he told her, completely ignoring the plea.

Admitting that she was going nowhere anytime soon – though the open door behind the man was looking extremely tempting – Alex decided that she would go with the knowledge route. It was the safer option in her condition.

"Why have you brought me here?" _wherever this is._

"Because the boss wanted you. And what the boss wants, the boss gets."

"The boss being Moriarty?" Alex guessed, managing to pull herself into a sitting position as some of the feeling began to come back in her arms.

"Well done," the man droned sarcastically.

"Okay, so what does _he _want me for?"

"Fun, probably," the man shrugged nonchalantly.

Alex pressed her lips together and willed herself not to throw up again as terror gripped her. As the drugs were wearing off, she was painfully aware of her situation.

Some of the fright must have shown on her face for the man laughed again, "I suppose you are probably wondering where I come into this?" he didn't wait for her to respond, just stuck out a calloused hand. "I'm Sebastian Moran, your worst nightmare."

Alex backed away from the hand and tried to control her erratic breathing. She scurried back until her spine hit the wall behind her in the dark, dingy room.

"Come now, Seb. Don't go scaring the girl already," an Irish voice sang from behind the doorway. "I see you have finally come around, dear Alex. I hope you don't have too much of a headache."

_I have a feeling I'm about to_, she thought miserably.

Moriarty stepped fully into the room to allow Alex to see his gleeful face in all of its glory. There was something about how overly happy he was that set Alex on edge even more. Whatever he had planned for her, it wasn't going to be good.

"Now," he said, ambling closer and leaning casually next to Sebastian. "You are probably wondering why you're here."

Alex nodded, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue. Getting cheeky would be a very big mistake.

"You see, Alex… I need to make sure of a few things. What you may ask? That bit isn't any of your concern. I just need you to help me gather the results."

"How can I gather the results for something that you won't tell me?"

"You don't need to know. This is how things are going to work. You are going to be here for a total of seven days. See? How nice. I'm letting you go back home in a week," Moriarty smiled patronizingly. "Just think of it as a school trip."

"What's the catch?" Alex asked suspiciously, her voice still wavering.

Moriarty's smile dropped to more of a proud grin, "So intuitive. While you are here, you will complete a series of tests, the first of which you will start in exactly two hours. If you pass them all, you can go home."

"And if I fail?"

"Let's just say that if you get an F, there is no option for a resit. These tests aren't the type that you can just walk away from. You pass or you die," Moriarty's head oscillated in pleasure. "But I'm sure you don't need to worry about failing."

Alex noticed that at the pool, also. The head turning.

"Prepare yourself then. In two hours, it is your first test. I won't give you an unfair advantage but let's just say that it involves long, pointy things that rhymes with lives."

Alex screwed her eyes shut and clasped her arms around her knees as the two men left the room, turning the key with a sharp click.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: dorina16able, Meg, E.I Cochrane, Xin0Lan, emilybrock101, Guest, Diversdown, KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar, Kell-Bells34, rycbar15, Rose Tomlinson, Nostalgic Beauty, fmxc17, VioletErin.26, TeamPiper and Abi for reviewing! Replies have been sent to you all!<strong>

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	56. Gone Girl - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I do own Alex, though :)**

**Author's Note: Hey, my Internet is down again so I am currently uploading this in a cafe with wifi haha.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Let's just say that if you get an F, there is no option for a resit. These tests aren't the type that you can just walk away from. You pass or you die," Moriarty's head oscillated in pleasure._

_Alex noticed that at the pool, also. The head turning. Not that she cared at the moment; she was too busy repeating over and over in her head: Pass or die, pass or die, pass or die._

_"Prepare yourself then. In two hours, it is your first test. I won't give you an unfair advantage but let's just say that it involves long, pointy things that rhymes with lives."_

Alex sat propped up against the dank wall. Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty had left after their little speech, bolting the door shut behind them. Alex buried her face in her knees. She couldn't believe this was happening. Why had she been so stupid to go to the pool? She knew that Sherlock could have handled himself!

"Because I'm an idiot, that's why," she answered herself bitterly, her voice muffled by the fabric of her jeans.

She winced as her back cracked. Then laughed. She had better get used to pain again because she had a feeling that she was in for a world of it.

The sound of footsteps broke Alex's thoughts as she jumped to her feet, her spine pressed against the wall of the… Basement? Yes, basement. The footsteps came closer until they were right outside the door.

Alex's heart hammered against her ribs as the sound of the bolt being slid across scraped through the gap under the door. The door swung open to reveal Sebastian Moran with what must have been his trademark, malicious grin.

"Come on up, Allie. Time for lesson one," he sneered from the opening.

Alex dug in her heels. She wasn't going anywhere.

"And here I was thinking that we could do things the easy way," Moran sighed. His lips twitched up into a smirk, "Then again, this way is so much more fun."

He lurched forward, grasping Alex's forearm in an almost blood stopping grip. Caught by surprise, Alex's knees buckled from the force. Moran's arm wrapped around her torso, lifting her off the ground and throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

Alex's limbs locked in fright as she struggled to be let down. She wanted to cry so badly but she couldn't give them the satisfaction. Her whole situation seemed hopeless. She was going into these tests to her death.

_And I can't even say goodbye…_

Realising that resistance was futile, the girl allowed her body to go limp over Moran's shoulder.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now stay still while you get your blindfold on."

Sure enough, another man that Alex didn't recognise came in the room and placed a raggedy cloth over her eyes. It was tied tightly around the back of her head, so tight that a tiny bruise was already beginning to form at her temple.

Once the blindfold was tied, the sound of the other man's footsteps disappearing indicated that he was the scout.

"Off we go, little one," Moran patronised once more before following the man out through the door, his movements jolting Alex up and down.

Alex bit her tongue, she was in no position to annoy anyone at this point. Her assumption was proved correct when her foot knocked against something hard in the waistband of her holder.

_Needing a gun to protect yourself from a defenceless teenage girl? How brave,_ Alex mocked in her head but didn't let the words roll out of her mouth no matter how much she wanted them to. Brave or not, in Alex's experience, when the person you are about to insult has a gun, you keep your mouth shut.

The walking continued for another seven minutes and thirty four seconds. That was a very long seven minutes and thirty four seconds. Perhaps the longest that Alex had experienced. Actually, that was probably when she had a knife stuck in her shoulder. Going off Moriarty's hint, she may have the pleasure of experiencing that again in the next few minutes.

Finally, after the second pair of stairs, Moran came to a stop. Alex's ears perked up at the sound of a door creaking open. Sebastian's hands hadn't moved and the other man had disappeared quite a while ago. That meant that someone else had opened the door. Alex just hoped that it wasn't-

"Alessandra! How nice of you to join us!" Moriarty announced loudly.

Of course it was.

Alex could practically feel the psychopath's smiling gaze on her.

Suddenly, Moran tipped her off his back and ripped off her blindfold roughly. Shamefully caught once again by surprise, Alex tumbled down his arm and landed in a heap on the slate flooring. She blinked rapidly to rid herself of the stars that were glistening in her eyes before getting quickly to her feet.

She looked up to see Moran and Moriarty watching her with identical amusement. But it wasn't fond amusement, there was a darkness in their eyes.

"So, what do I have to do?" Alex asked, jutting her chin out determinedly.

"Look around," Moriarty grinned, thrusting his arms out to the room, "Deduce."

Alex swallowed and reluctantly turned to face the room, ignoring the whole 'never break eye contact with your enemy' rule. Yet another thing that her situation was an exception to.

The room was sparsely furnished. It was long, with windows boarded up and a naked bulb hanging from a wire. The flooring was black slate. At the very back of the room was the only piece of furniture. A target board.

"Archery?" Alex questioned with a raised eyebrow and a little more sarcasm that she would have liked.

Moriarty nodded.

"What, so I have to hit the board or I die?" Alex guessed, how hard could that be?

"That would be much too easy, young Alessandra. No, you must hit the bullseye three times out of a possible six," Moriarty ordered looking extremely pleased with himself.

Alex's jaw dropped in horror, "It takes me five times to swat a fly, never mind hit a small red dot twenty metres away with a flimsy stick!"

_Oh no, this is it. I am dead. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Why didn't I take archery when I was younger?! Oh, I am so dead. I wonder of anyone will ever find my body. Maybe he will just throw me in a river and be done with it. How am I going to do this?!_

"You can always opt out."

Moriarty's slick, Irish voice sliced through her panicked thoughts. She turned back to him slowly, allowing a smidgen of hope to blossom.

"And what does that entail?" she asked suspiciously.

Moriarty motioned to Moran, "Fill our guest in, Seb."

Alex watched the exchange with distrustful eyes.

'Seb' turned to her, trying and failing to keep a straight face, "If you want to opt out, you have a variety of different options," he began to list them on his fingers, "Knife, rope, bleach, arsenic, etcetera."

"Suicide," Alex murmured quietly, looking down at her feet and feeling the little balloon of hope in her chest deflate.

Moriarty watched her closely, "I need an answer."

She rose her head and matched his gaze, "I think you know my answer."

Jim raised both of his eyebrows and clicked his fingers. The man that had blindfolded her earlier waddled back into the room holding a crate. Moriarty dipped his hand into the crate and pulled out a worn looking bow and arrow.

He placed them gently in Alex's hand, still studying her face. Alex was becoming more and more unnerved as time went on. She took the bow and just looked at it in her hand for a moment.

It was definitely a traditional style bow, she knew that much. It looked like something that fell out of The Lord of the Rings or Robin Hood. It was as big as both of Alex's arms spread out wide. The limb of the bow was curved and smooth with an Indian style pattern carved into it. The wood was glossed, as were the arrows.

"Have you ever used one?" Moriarty asked.

Alex shook her head.

"Have a practice shot then. Just one mind you, don't be thinking that I am going soft, Alessandra _Holmes_."

Alex frowned at the emphasis on the word Holmes. What was he trying to say?

Alex shook her head to clear her jumble of thoughts and focused on the bow and arrow in her hands. Moriarty was actually being generous, she would be damned if she passed an opportunity like this one. She remembered her mother being particularly good at darts, perhaps her aim had been passed onto her daughter.

Trying to remember anything at all that she may have heard about archery, Alex suddenly saw one word flash on her eyelids:

_Anchor point._

The lining up of the arrow and the bow was imperative. She had remembered watching something on the television about it. How she wished that she hadn't changed the channel after that.

She slipped the arrow on line with the string of the bow. It rested there in anticipation, waiting to be released. Alex brought up the bow and lined it up to her anchor point. She made sure that the line was perfectly straight between her index finger and the corner of her lip before pulling the string back so that it was taut.

"Come on, Alex," she whispered inaudibly to herself.

She squinted to line up the arrowhead with the bullseye. Satisfied that it was aimed correctly, Alex allowed her fingers to release the arrow.

With a snap, the arrow whistled through the air like a bullet and imbedded itself on the corner of the board. Nowhere near the bullseye. At least that was just a practice.

"One down, five more attempts to go," Moriarty sang.

Or not.

Alex spun on her heel to face him in outrage,

"But you said that was a practice!" She cried indignantly.

Moriarty looked down at her condescendingly, "And you believed me? Well, it's a good job this isn't an intelligence test or someone will have been in trouble."

A snort of laughter came from the doorway and Alex turned to see Moran leaning casually against the frame. _Did he seriously think that I was going to try and escape? I may be reckless sometimes, but I'm not bloody suicidal._

Alex shot a filthy look to both of them before picking up another arrow out of the crate with a little more vigour than necessary. Her hand closed around the arrow as she slotted it alongside the bow string. She brought her arm up and once again lined it up with the looming scarlet lifeline.

She pulled it tighter.

And let go.

Just like before, the arrow sailed through the air but this time snapped clean in two as it made contact with the board.

"Tut-tut, Alessandra," Moriarty crooned. "Only four more to go and you need to get three, remember."

Alex pushed down the sick feeling in her gut and picked up another arrow. This one really counted. She had to get this one. Or she was dead. It was a strange thing to get her head around, her life hanging in the balance like that. Not that it hadn't been before, but Sherlock or Mycroft had always been there. She had always been there _because_ of them, if that made sense. She had always been a ransom or something to get to Sherlock. Until now. Now, she was on her own.

"Come on, we don't have all day," Sebastian drawled.

Alex swallowed and, with a shaky hand, let the arrow fly. It shot out from the bow and buried itself not in the target, but the wall behind it.

"You really aren't very good with arrows, are you?" Moriarty chuckled, advancing forward.

Alex instinctively took a step backwards. Moriarty raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Don't worry yourself you have three more chances before I kill you. Or rather, when Seb kills you," Alex shot a look at a grinning Moran. "I'm simply giving you a different weapon."

He nudged the box of arrows across the room with the side of his foot and gave a shrill whistle. The man that had brought the crate of arrows came crawling back in with another crate. He set it down next to Moriarty's feet and scurried away quickly.

Alex watched him to go with a frown. That wasn't the posture or behaviour of someone who really wanted to be apart of Moriarty's business.

_Maybe he is like me, a prisoner._

Alex looked to Moriarty and saw him still smirking at her. She raised an eyebrow at him. He motioned with his head down to the newly brought crate in invitation. Alex walked slowly and cautiously towns the box and peered inside.

She saw the familiar shine on the side of the box that alerted her to what was inside. Looking further in confirmed it. The wooden crate was carrying at least fifteen knives of all shapes and sizes.

_"Prepare yourself then. In two hours, it is your first test. I won't give you an unfair advantage but let's just say that it involves long, pointy things that rhymes with lives."_

That was what Moriarty had said. Well, he wasn't bluffing. Shame.

"It's the same concept. You throw the knife and it must hit the bullseye three times or-" Moriarty drew an imaginary line across his throat. "And since you only have three attempts left, things aren't looking very good for little baby Holmes."

He buried his hands in his pockets much like he had done at the pool and strode back to stand beside Moran, his head again turning strangely. Probably because he was enjoys himself.

Alex knelt beside the crate and shuffled among the knives carefully. She selected a short, sharp knife. She straightened up and held it in her hand.

Its gleam shimmered off the walls creating slithery eels of light swimming on the slate walls and floor. As Alex made contact with the knife, her breath hitched. She couldn't explain it, it was like she had just plunged her hand in a ball of light. Just like when she had picked up the knife from Angelo's, she felt a surge of power.

Her eyes scraped over the surface, taking in its beauty. She brought her index finger to the sharp tip and let out a breath as it made a small cut. A small dribble of blood ran down her hand and she smiled. This was the weapon.

She tightened her grip around the hilt of the knife with her right hand, and brought her arm back behind her shoulder.

_Three, two, one._

With a grunt of effort, Alex sent the knife flying through the air, just like she had with the arrows. Only this time, it didn't veer off course or splinter, it buried itself clean in the centre of the bullseye.

Alex let the breath she didn't know she had been holding escape and a smile to grace her lips.

"Very good! Fantastic, in fact," Moriarty exclaimed.

Alex was unsure whether or not he was genuinely pleased, or was playing more mind games. Either way, she was pretty damn happy with that shot! She just had to keep a level head, though. No celebrating yet. She still had to get the next two to hit the bullseye or she was six feet under.

She knelt down once again next to the box and selected another short, sharp knife –_ why change tactics when the original one works?_ – before taking her position again.

_Breathe, Alex. Just breathe._

Obedient to her conscience, she sucked in a deep breath and allowed the oxygen to cool her throat and fill her lungs. She felt them expand and contract. Expand, contract. Expand, contract. She had control of all of her muscles. They were all tightly disciplined under the circumstances.

_Arm back._

_Throw._

Alex bent forward in anticipation as she watched the knife sail through the air almost leisurely. Then again, the knife didn't know what would happen if it didn't hit that beautiful red dot, it had good reason to take its time. Or good reason not to.

Regardless, it hit the board with a satisfying thwack, its nose imbedded in the bullseye, just slightly off centre.

Alex held her hand up to quell Moriarty's no doubt witty remark before she knew what she was doing. He raised an eyebrow at her but mimed zipping his lips all the same as the girl took her next and final knife.

This one was slightly longer than the previous two but Alex hoped that the length would not affect the efficiency since there weren't any more small knives.

She stepped back up to the mark again and brought the knife up to her left eye alongside her cheek, aimed at the centre of the board.

Lurching forward, she darted the knife forward and closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to see. She heard the knife make contact. She heard the familiar thwack. She waited. She waited for either the patronising clapping from her captor, or the click of a gun at the back of her head.

The silence dragged on.

Alex kept her eyes screwed shut.

And then, slowly, a clap… clap… clap….

"Congratulations, Alessandra," Alex's eyelids finally snapped open. "It seems that you have passed this test. But don't worry, there's still time."

A small giddy giggle escaped Alex's dry lips as she saw where her final knife had landed. Its point had plunged just left of the rim of the bullseye, barely scraping it, but nonetheless inside.

However, before she could properly digest the fact that she wasn't about to be killed yet, the itchy blindfold was again tied around her with slightly more ire than before. It seemed that Moran was a little peeved that he didn't get to pull the trigger and blow out her brains out yet.

Like Moriarty said, though, there was still time. And six more tests to survive.

**Author's Note:**

**Huge thank you to: emilybrock101, Diversdown, E.I Cochrane, rycbar15, GottaLoveTen, TeamPiper, loveinfinity, Meg, jokerharley1980, KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar, Rose Tomlinson, VioletErin.26, OnceUponADeduction and Bulletpr00f Years for reviewing!**

**Replies should have been sent to you a couple of days ago but because of the internet playing up, if I haven't replied to you, just let me know and I will get onto that for you!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	57. Gone Girl - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Sherlock.**

**Author's Note: Hey. Yup, I'm back at the cafe with the wifi haha. The woman at the counter keeps refilling my tea as I write the now four fanfictions that I have going haha. Things could be worse ;) This chapter is smaller than usual because it just felt like the right time to stop.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_However, before she could properly digest the fact that she wasn't about to be killed yet, the itchy blindfold was again tied around her with slightly more ire than before. It seemed that Moran was a little peeved that he didn't get to pull the trigger and blow out her brains out yet._

_Like Moriarty said, though, there was still time. And six more tests to survive._

After finishing the first test, Alex was left alone for the night. Due to the fact that there were no windows in the basement that she was being held, the only way that she knew it was nighttime was by the crudely drawn moon hung by the door, signed proudly with a swirly M.

Trying to keep an optimistic mind, Alex swept her gaze over the room and admitted that her conditions could have been worse. There was a small, rusty radiator that gave off a moderate amount of heat; when she had been completing the first test, someone had brought her up a duvet and pillows; and she was given a glass of water. No food, but water.

When she had asked for food, Moriarty's response had been "This isn't a hotel!"

Though negative, it had been infinitely better than Moran's almost incoherent grumble of, "Hungry, my arse. Eat your toes."

Alex didn't really know which one was more messed up, at least Moriarty was more polite. _Oh yeah, Alex, because you really want him to politely order your execution._

Alex scoffed to herself, first day in and she was already cracking up.

And with that cheerful thought, Alex pulled the duvet up to her chin and tried to fall asleep. She knew that she would need her strength for what was in store for her the following morning. She just hope that Moriarty didn't follow the tradition of the questions getting harder the further you got through a test. Then again, he didn't really seem like a traditional type of guy.

* * *

><p>Back at 221B, Mrs Hudson was the main feature so to speak. She seemed to be everywhere and anywhere in the flat all at the same time, making people tea, giving them biscuits. She hoped that somehow, if she made enough teas, her 'granddaughter' would come back.<p>

John once again declined one of the many ginger biscuits that she had offered him and put his face in his hands. Who knew what was happening to Alex. She could already be dead. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he immediately abolished it. Keep positive.

Keeping positive was the furthest from Sherlock's mind. He sat completely rigid in his chair, eyes unblinking, and his mobile clenched in one white fist. He noticed the worried looks that John kept shooting him, but ignored each one. He couldn't help the nagging little voice inside the halls of his mind palace screaming, 'It is all your fault. If only you had kept hold of her, or made sure she didn't follow you, or done something then she wouldn't be gone!'

At that moment, a ragged looking Lestrade entered the living room. He looked wearily at the other occupants and dropped onto the armrest of the sofa.

"Anything?" John asked, knowing what the answer would be but asking anyway out of courtesy.

Lestrade shook his head, "Mycroft had a right go at Anderson, though. He's downstairs now rollicking his CCTV operators on the phone. Apparently, one of them switched off the cameras in the area that Alex was taken and then buggered off."

"So Moriarty has people that are working undercover within the government?"

"Apparently," Lestrade sighed.

"That's nothing new."

Lestrade, John and Mrs Hudson turned to look at Sherlock in surprise, it having being the first time that he had spoken since they had arrived back from the pool. Sherlock looked up and matched their stare with his usual coldness.

"What? Why are you all staring at me like that? Go back to your little useless efforts, it was a lot quieter."

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson chastised.

"Oh, it isn't like if you keep making us more biscuits, Alex will walk through that door all laughing and smiling," Sherlock said curtly, turning towards the wall once more.

Mrs Hudson covered her face with a screwed up tissue from her sleeve and let out the small whimper that she had been repressing since she had found out. The lady turned her back to retain some of her dignity and felt the reassuring arm of John around her shoulders.

"Don't worry, we will get her back," he assured her, shooting a filthy look at Sherlock. "Maybe you should go and get some rest. We will let you know if there are any developments."

Mrs Hudson blinked away the remainder of her tears and gave a melancholy nod before shuffling out of the room and tapping down the stairs. As soon as John heard he click of the woman's door close, he wheeled around on his flatmate.

"I know you're feeling stressed, Sherlock, we all are. But you can't take it out on Mrs Hudson, she wasn't the one who took Alex. In fact, she is the only innocent person in this flat. Excluding Lestrade," John added.

Sherlock shuffled his shoulders in the chair but didn't say a word. John shook his head exasperatedly at Sherlock's blank expression, knowing full well the emotions coursing through his friend's mind. Not that he would show any of them, of course.

* * *

><p>The first thing Alex realised when she had finally fallen asleep long enough to wake up, was her missing jumper. When she had fled Baker Street what felt like a million years ago, she had been wearing a pair of old jeans, a thin T-shirt and her jumper. Now she was an item down. She shivered without her extra layer of fabric.<p>

"Are you awake now, sleepyhead?" Moriarty trilled from the doorway.

Alex spun around at the sound of his voice in alarm. She pushed back the blanket and got to her feet as he began to approach her.

"Good morning, Jim," she greeted with a false smile, masking her fright.

"Good morning to you too, Alex. Did you sleep well?"

"Swimmingly," Alex replied shortly.

Moriarty held her gaze with a straight face before he suddenly began to laugh. It wasn't an evil, patronising laugh either, that was what seemed so terrifying – he was actually genuinely laughing.

"Care to let me in on the joke?" Alex asked, raising her head somewhat defensively.

Jim looked at her again and bit down on his knuckles to stifle his laughter down to a small giggle.

"No… no," he giggled again, "I'm simply thinking how fun it is to have you here at last. Alessandra Holmes."

He had stopped laughing completely now and was staring at her… admiringly? He walked towards Alex until they were only inches apart, Alex's back against the wall.

"Oh, I have been waiting for my moment to finally meet you. The little girl at the heart of the Holmes brothers. With you here," he cupped the side of her face with his hand. "I could get them to do whatever I want them to. That's why you think that you are here, isn't it? So I can get to your uncles. Well, I don't want them… yet. I want you."

Alex shivered under his icy touch and her breath caught in her throat.

"And what do you mean by that?" she whispered shakily, all of her confidence gone.

"Just finish these tests, survive these tests, and I will tell you everything. I will tell you what your uncles have kept from you since you were a baby. I will tell you who you really are. And I will tell you what really happened when you were six years old. Things even your uncles don't know about your mother."

Tears pricked at Alex's eyes as she shook her head, Moriarty's hand clasped to her still.

"You're lying, you don't know anything," she hissed through her teeth, a saltwater track sliding down her face. "You don't know anything about my family."

Moriarty gave a soft, knowing smirk and stepped back.

"Perhaps. One thing that I do know for certain, though, is your second test starts in an hour. I hope you know how to swim."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed that :). I am on my third cup of tea now so sleepless night, here I come!<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: VioletErin.26, Xin0Lan, EICochrane, emilybrock101, GottaLoveTen, OnceUponADeduction, rycbar15, Guest, Jokerharley1980, Rose Tomlinson, abi tandy and KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar for reviewing!**

**Replies should be sent to you in the next few hours, as long as the cafe stays open!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	58. Gone Girl - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the British Broadcasting Centre. I own Alex.**

**Author's Note: Hi again :) Here is the next chapter!**

_Previously:_

_Tears pricked at Alex's eyes as she shook her head, Moriarty's hand clasped to her still._

_"You are lying, you don't know anything," she hissed through her teeth, a saltwater track sliding down her face. "You don't know anything about my family."_

_Moriarty gave a soft, knowing smirk and stepped back._

_"Perhaps. One thing that I do know for certain, though, is your second test starts in an hour. I hope you know how to swim."_

Alex had her arms wrapped tightly around her legs and her face buried into her knees. Moriarty's words kept circling in her head, taunting her. How could he know what she had been longing to for the last nine years? How could he know so much about _her _mother? Alex was Maybelline's child and yet a murderous psychopath knew more than she did about her!

Letting out yet another sigh, Alex lifted her head to the sound of the door being unlocked again. It had been exactly an hour since Moriarty had visited her and poisoned her with his lies. For that was what they must be. Lies. That was all. He was just trying to torture her. At least what was what she tried to convince herself.

"Hello, Allie," a voice from the doorway greeted, and Alex didn't even need to see to know that it was Moran. "Are you ready for the next test?"

"Yes," she muttered through her gritted teeth.

"Good, good. Now come over here and get your blindfold on," he ordered.

Seeing how Moran reacted when she was uncooperative, Alex decided that it was better just to do what he said unless she wanted to be thrown over his shoulder again like last time. She got to her feet and walked over to the door. Moran was holding the rag in his hand with the same smirk on his face.

"Why can't I just close my eyes?" Alex asked wearily, eyeing the blindfold with a wrinkled nose.

"Yeah, you can do that, I suppose," Moran replied, much to Alex's surprise. "As long as you close them underneath the blindfold, that will be fine."

Alex rolled her eyes and allowed the rag to be tied tightly around her head, wincing when it pressed on yesterday's bruise. Then, unexpectedly, her hands were clasped together and bound with a rough piece of rope. Moran's nails dug into her skin.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, trying to pull away from the hands tying hers together.

"Binding your wrists," Moran replied slowly as if she were stupid. "Now stay still unless you want sedating."

Alex promptly stopped struggling. Who knew what would happen to her if she ended up unconscious.

Once the tying was finished, Moran took hold of her forearm and guided her out of the room. Through the dense fabric of the blindfold, Alex could only barely make out the shape of Moran walking in front of her. The tiniest bit of light seeped through the cloth but still made it near impossible to make out anything else.

Whilst trying to strain her eyes, Alex's foot suddenly hit something hard, causing her to stumble forwards and slice her shin on something very sharp. She let out a small hiss of pain.

"Oh, yes. Sorry, I forgot to warn you about the stairs," Moran said disinterestedly.

Pulling herself up from the floor, Alex used her hands to guide her way up the stairs, Moran holding on to her collar. The stairs had no carpet on, and seemed to be made of something cold and smooth, like metal or plastic. She finally got to the top and Moran yanked her to the left. He opened a door and gave Alex a mighty push.

Unable to catch herself with her hands tied together, Alex crashed to the floor and moaned as she clattered her bleeding shin.

"You do like to make an entrance, Alex, don't you?" Moriarty laughed, kneeling next to her and taking off her blindfold.

His fingers were light and gentle as he removed the cloth, revealing himself to be closer to her than Alex would have liked. He reached out and ran a finger across her cheek. She flinched back.

"There, now we can see your pretty blue eyes," he smiled.

Alex looked away from him and studied the room that she was in. Just like before, the room was empty apart from one thing that she supposed her test revolved around. It was a narrow box (one metre by one metre), like a coffin stood up, and made of transparent glass instead of wood. On the outside of a box was a pipe leading from it to a large cylinder.

"Intriguing, isn't it?"

"What do I have to do?" Alex asked, turning back to Moriarty.

Annoyingly, he just tapped the side of his nose with his index finger and winked.

"Well, how am I supposed to complete this test if you won't tell me what I have to do?"

"You'll figure it out," Moriarty assured her. "But for just a minute, you are going to stay completely still or that will count as the test failed, understand?"

Alex suddenly felt a jolt of fear at that but nodded all the same. Seeing her consent, Moriarty moved even closer to her and began to run his hands through her hair.

"What are you doing you creep?" Alex spat but spotted the gun perched in Moran's hand and wisely shut up.

He tangled his hands in every inch of her hair for a good two minutes before withdrawing.

"Arms out," he ordered and Alex obeyed, still clueless as to what was going on as he unbound her hands.

He then began to pat down her clothing like a security guard at an airport, checking for something that Alex had no idea about.

"She's clean," he informed the other man.

Moran grinned and stepped forwards, taking Alex by her arm and dragging her over to the box. Alex's heart was thundering against her ribs as the door to the box was opened and she was pushed inside. She fell back with the force of the push and hit the other side of the glass with a thump.

"Please just tell me what I have to do," Alex pleaded desperately.

Moriarty stepped forward and shut the door so that Alex was trapped inside. He pulled a shiny silver key out of his pocket and turned it in the keyhole on the outside.

"I borrowed this from a friend. He was a magician. Wasn't quite magical enough in the end. All you have to do, Alessandra, is do the trick. Get out," Moriarty's mouth curved up into a grin as Moran flicked a button on the cylinder next to the box.

With a roar that make Alex tremble in terror, the pipe connecting the cylinder and the box filled with freezing cold water. It shot along the pipe and splashed down into the bottom of the box, covering Alex's ankles in seconds.

Alex looked down at the water and the locked door and her eyes widened in recognition. She understood now. She had to pick the lock on the door before the water filled the box and drowned her. That was why he had searched her clothes and hair, looking for things like hairgrips that she could have used to unlock the door.

"But I don't have anything to put into the lock!" she shouted through the glass in a panic.

Moriarty shrugged and leant casually against the wall.

"Help me!" she screamed, the water now up to her knees.

The Irish man threw his head back and laughed in glee, glad to finally be getting some action.

"DAMN YOU!" Alex roared, slamming her fist against the glass.

"It's double-glazed, sweetheart. Good luck breaking that," Moran tittered.

Alex let out frustrated and terrified yell. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat as the icy cold water worked its way up to her thighs. If she didn't get out soon, she was going to drown.

_Come on, Alex. You're a Holmes, bloody well act like one. Think! What would Sherlock do? What would Mycroft do? What would Mum do?_

Alex thought back to when her mother was teaching her how to pick locks when she was five. It had been their special activity that was deemed safer than Sherlock's activity with five year old Alex - deductions in public. Alex remembered her mother saying,

_"Now, the important thing when picking locks is to use something very small but quite sharp. That's why we use my hairgrips so much."_

Okay, so she needed something small and sharp. But what? Moriarty had checked for anything like that. A sudden spark of pain reminded Alex to hurry up. The water had reached up to her wrists and had caused the scratches caused by Moran's nails to sting.

Alex gasped. That was it! Nails! Alex looked at hers and saw that they were sharp enough. She just had to find a way to stop the water long enough to pick the lock without being underwater.

The light from the bulb above reflected on the water, making it hard to see beneath, but Alex managed to see the opening of the pipe pumping more and more water in. If only she could block it up with something…

Immediately reaching for her jumper, Alex grasped at her bare arms and remembered that she had woken up without it. Moriarty had planned this down to the last detail. The only thing she could block it up with was her t-shirt and that was exactly what Moriarty wanted.

"YOU ARE SICK!" Alex bellowed before slipping her shirt over her head and bundling it up into a ball.

Alex took a deep breath and ducked under the water, sinking down to the bottom. She fought against the force of the water coming through the pipe but managed to block it up with her shirt. Blinking through stinging eyes, Alex pushed off the bottom and broke the surface again.

"DO YOU HEAR ME, MORIARTY? SICK!"

Moriarty had walked around the back of the box, tilting his head at her. He seemed to be looking at the skin on her back.

Even though she was (thank the Lord) wearing underwear, Alex crossed one arm over her chest self-consciously.

_Oh, don't be so stupid, Alex! Get your priorities straight!_

The water was now up to her abdomen and freezing every inch of her beneath that point but as long as that point didn't rise any more, she could deal with it.

"Nails," she murmured under her breath and got to work chewing her index fingernail.

However, she needed a good clean cut and all her teeth did was chip off little fragments, she wouldn't be able to open a lock with that.

_You know what you need to do_, the little voice inside her head said. It sounded almost regretful. Could a conscience sound regretful? Apparently so.

Alex brought her finger away from her lips lowered it to her side. Moriarty perked up to see what would happen next. Taking a long, deep breath, Alex took hold of her nail on her index finger and ripped across, taking the whole nail with it.

Alex screamed in agony, cradling her bleeding finger in her other hand, the nail clasped still in her grasp. She took another quick, pain-filled breath to calm herself before getting to work. She jammed the nail into the lock and wiggled it and manipulated it to fit the shape of the key.

But something was wrong. Alarm bells were ringing inside her head. And that was when she realised that the water level was rising again. In her scream of pain, she had thrashed out and not heard the sound of her t-shirt being forced out of the pipe. The pressure must have been building immensely behind it, so someone must have turned up the water speed setting.

Sure enough, the water was coming faster and faster. Alex tried to jam the t-shirt back inside, but it just kept blowing back out, the force was just too much. The water was up to her collarbone. The only choice now was to concentrate on unlocking the door. There was no way to stop the water now.

Gulping a lungful of air, Alex dived again, the keyhole now submerged in water. Her vision was blurry and painful beneath the surface and her finger throbbed, but she tried the best she could. Ignoring the fact that the water was starting to acquire a red tinge from her wounds, she inserted the bloodied fingernail into the lock once more. She twisted it left, then right and bent it to try and shape it right, but the lock remained sealed.

Alex's lungs began to ache and her head pound. Leaving the nail stuck in the lock, she kicked off from the bottom. However, the top of her head hit the ceiling of the box and all there was, was water. She tilted her head back so that her mouth was touching the top and found only two inches of air left. A tear slid down her already drenched face. She was going to die. She had thought so before, but she knew so this time. She just knew.

"STOP THIS!"

Moriarty was silent as he watched the water rise above Alex's face, reaching completely to the top.

Alex felt herself sink, her brittle bones shaking with a mixture of the cold and her despair. Her lips began to turn blue and her muscles got weaker and weaker. She could feel her heart slowing down. The deadly cocoon of water was squeezing the life out of her like juice from an orange.

_Think of Sherlock and Mycroft, _the voice encouraged again, but it sounded too distant. As if it was being held by Moriarty on the other side of the glass. _Think of them. They would want you to fight._

But all of the fight had faded away from her. Just as her eyes began to close, she tucked up her legs and thrust out at the lock, the nail still inside. And with that last bit of effort, Alex's eyes closed completely and her heart ceased its beating.

Sebastian Moran will never forget the moment when the door to the box opened. When Alex had kicked it, she caught the nail in exactly the right position so that it unlocked the door. It swung open with a bang, causing torrents of water to spill out. The motionless figure of the almost fifteen year old girl, was caught in the tide and delivered to the floor where she lay.

Moriarty watched her. He didn't blink. He stared at her. His head oscillated.

Moran cautiously walked over to Alex and turned her head with the tip of his boot. Her head lolled slackly as he pushed it.

"Boss, I think she's-" Moran was suddenly cut off by the sound of coughing.

Moriarty marched forward and pushed Moran out of the way to kneel next to Alex. She gave a small, cough that sounded more like a hiccup. Moriarty rolled her on her side as she began to cough more, louder. Her mouth opened and expelled her lungful of water. She kept coughing a hacking cough until life flooded through her once more.

"Am I dead?" she rasped quietly, her head pounding.

"Not yet, Alex. We have too much to do yet," he grinned. "I'm getting a bit of déjà vu."

**Author's Note: That was quite hard to write, actually. Poor Alex :(**

**HUGE thank you to: dorina16able, Insane-Mad-Hatter07, SparrowLilies, emilybrock101, rycbar15, GottaLoveTen, Rose Tomlinson, YUNeLenna, EI Cochrane, jokerharley1980, VictoriaTheMexican14 and Bulletpr00f Years for reviewing!**

**ALL replies will be sent to you by the end of the night. With my internet issue, I haven't been able to for the last couple of chapters but I promise to today!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please Review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	59. Gone Girl - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey, I'm currently in Spain on holiday but I have brought a netbook with me to keep updating.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Moriarty marched forward and pushed Moran out of the way to kneel next to Alex. She gave a small, cough that sounded more like a hiccup. Moriarty rolled her on her side as she began to cough more, louder. Her mouth opened and expelled her lungful of water. She kept coughing a hacking cough until life flooded through her once more._

_"Am I dead?" she rasped quietly._

_"Not yet, Alex. We have too much to do yet."_

Alex couldn't remember being brought back to the room. She could vaguely make out that she was being carried – none to gently – by someone with a bloodied nose, but that was all.

Currently, she lay with her head as still as she could keep it, on the floor. Every time she moved, a pounding beat would thwack inside her skull, causing her to lose consciousness. It was slowly beginning to wear off but the same couldn't be said for the pain in her chest and throat.

Deciding to brave trying to sit up, Alex pressed her shaky palms down on the floor and pushed her upper body up and against the wall. She noticed her shirt had been retrieved from the pipe and was still wet, clinging to her skin. She squeezed her eyes closed as a wave of dizziness and nausea crashed through her. It passed in a few moments. She supposed it was from a mixture of the almost drowning and starvation.

"Are you okay?"

Alex jumped at the voice, panic rising in her throat, "Who's there?"

"By the door," the Scottish voice replied.

Alex looked to where was indicated and saw the man that had blindfolded her on her first test. He was watching her with concern.

"Are you okay?" he repeated. "I was getting worried."

"Are you thick?" Alex deadpanned. "I literally just nearly died so I don't think that I am 'okay', no. Where was this concern when I was drowning? You work for Moriarty, you could have stopped it."

The man looked down in shame, his tatty hair falling over his eyes.

"I would have helped if I could have made any difference. I wouldn't have gotten two strides before being shot."

As much as she hated it, she could see his point.

"Please don't tell-"

"Anyone that you were speaking to me?" Alex guessed with an eye roll. "That would be a smart move indeed, wouldn't it?"

"You have a smart mouth," the man grumbled.

Alex gave a small smile at that, "I am not usually this bad."

"Torture can change a person," the man agreed with a forlorn nod.

"And you would know?" Alex asked.

He locked eyes with her for a second and a rush of understanding flowed through both. He quickly looked away and bowed his head, "This conversation is over."

Before Alex could ask why, the sound of footsteps reached her ears and she quickly shuffled around so that she was facing away from the man near the door. The door swung on its hinges as it was opened and Moriarty's voice sailed through the archway.

"Recovered, are you?" Moriarty asked.

Alex looked up at him with her tired, bloodshot eyes, "What do you think?"

Moriarty held his hands up in a surrender at her tone as he walked further in the room, "Whoa, whoa. That wasn't my fault."

Alex scoffed and looked away from him in disgust.

"Honestly! Cross my _icy _heart," Moriarty suddenly giggled. "I do love saying that."

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Alex questioned wearily. "Don't you have some weird contraption that you need to set up that will kill me slowly and painfully?"

"I don't want to kill you," he said seriously. "More than anything, I want you to live."

"Doesn't look that way."

"If you don't want my company-"

"I don't," Alex stated coldly, ignoring completely the rule she had made what seemed like a hundred days ago to keep her mouth shut.

"Well, you're Uncle Sherlock is going to be disappointed that you didn't want to speak to him," Moriarty mentioned offhandedly and turned to walk out.

"Wait!" Alex scrambled to her feet, ignoring the stab of sickness. "I can speak to Sherlock?"

"I do believe that's what I came in here to tell you but I think you seemed a little ungrateful. Y'know, ungrateful kids get nothing. It is better to be taught that at a young age, I have heard," Moriarty mocked.

"Where is Sherlock? What have you done with him?" Alex hissed through her teeth.

"Your uncles and doctor are sat at Baker Street waiting for me to call them and tell them that you're dead. That's what they think, you know. They think that I will have killed you by now. So I need you to prove that you aren't. Ten minutes on the phone should be good enough proof, don't you think?"

"Why would you want him to know that I am still alive? I thought you wanted to 'burn the heart out of him'," Alex spat the words.

"Because if you are dead, it means that you aren't currently being tortured or worse. It means you are at _peace. _Quaint, isn't it? Emotions work in strange ways, Alex. I know that hearing your voice will set off a whole range of emotions. Like passion and rage. Those two are my favourites. People make so many mistakes whilst feeling them," Moriarty's gleeful face made him look like a little boy with a new _Hornby _train set. "And the only thing that you won't be able to tell him is when you are going home. You can tell him about everything else."

Alex paused to absorb his words. By talking to Sherlock, she would be doing exactly what Moriarty wanted, which would lead to no good whatsoever… but she wanted to talk to her family so badly. She _needed _to. If the last task was anything to go by, it may be last time she ever spoke to them again.

"Fine," Alex caved.

Moriarty grinned even wider and took out his mobile from his inside pocket. He dialled a number and tapped the option for loudspeaker, holding it so Alex could hear the dialling tone.

"I'll speak first and you will keep silent until I give you the phone, understand?" Moriarty explained as if explaining how to add five to three to a nursery class.

Alex nodded stiffly and just managed to hold back a gasp as the sound of John's voice echoed through the phone.

"Hello?" John answered in a tired voice.

"Hello, Doctor Watson. Jim, here. I was wondering if Sherlock is coming out to play."

"Moriarty…" John's voice was as hard as steel.

"Just put Sherlock on or I may be inclined to do something drastic."

That was enough to convince John to hand over the phone, though the amount of static suggested that he did so with little consideration.

"Hello, Moriarty," Sherlock's smooth deep, voice spoke once the static stopped and almost made Alex want to cry with relief.

"Put it on loudspeaker, Sherlock. Don't be rude to your brother," Moriarty chastised.

_Oh my God, Uncle Mycroft. _

A loud tap shot from the phone as Sherlock jabbed the loudspeaker button.

"Ohh, I am speaking to all the Holmeses. How lovely."

"Where's Alex, Moriarty? What have you done to her?" John growled.

"What do you want? A grid reference? Postcode? Fax number? Do you really think that I am going to give her up that easily?" Moriarty threw his head back and laughed.

"Just cut her out of your games. She has no part of it. This is between you and me, not Alex. She is an innocent child, now let her go," Sherlock ordered.

"Ummm… No," he continued to laugh.

"Is she… is she alive?" John asked with a wavering voice.

Moriarty bit his lip in excitement, "Ask her yourself."

He handed the phone to Alex, but was surprised when she didn't take it. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'll only talk to them if you leave the room. I won't say what you told me not to, I give you my word," Alex promised, staring intently at Moriarty's eyes and trying not to rip the phone from his hand straight away. She had to be stronger than that.

Moriarty placed the mobile on the floor and nodded his head, "Well played, Miss Holmes. Well played."

He backed out of the room and closed the door. Alex waited until she heard his footsteps echo away up the steps outside until they disappeared completely. She dived to the floor and clutched the phone desperately to her ear.

"Hello?" she spoke waveringly.

There were three exclamations of, "Alex!", "Are you okay?!" and "Has he hurt you?!"

"Take it off loudspeaker, I can't hear you all," Alex said.

There was another loud tap and Sherlock's voice came through crystal clear.

"Alex. Are you okay? Do you know where you are?" he asked clearly.

Hearing her uncle's voice after what she had just been through was too much. The lump in her throat that she had been burying for days rose up into a choked sob, tears that she had been holding at bay rolling down her cheeks.

"No, no. Don't cry. You're going to be fine. Stop crying," Sherlock pleaded, obviously unsure as to how to comfort her.

"I can't," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. I-I've tried not to when I h-have wanted to since I was taken."

"Alex, I know that you are frightened and upset but just try to calm down for a moment, okay. How long do you have contact with us for?"

"Ten minutes. More like nine now."

"Mycroft is probably going to punch me if I don't hand over the phone but I will speak to you before the ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay," Alex whispered shakily.

There was a scuffle until Mycroft began to speak.

"Alex? Are you there?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied in a small quivering voice.

"Sherlock's right, you are going to be fine. Don't worry… Alex?" his voice took on a worried tone at her lack of response.

"Sorry," she hastily apologised. "I kind of zoned out there."

The truth was, she was feeling sicker than ever. Her head was throbbing like someone was using it as a punching bag and her vision was wavering constantly. The crying finished off the last of her strength.

"Are you okay?" Mycroft hurriedly asked.

"I… I don't know," she quickly dropped the phone and jerked her head to the side as she felt the urge to be sick overtake her and threw up in the corner of the room.

"Alex?! Alex!" the sound of Mycroft and Sherlock's panicked voices were comically quiet whilst shouting threw the discarded phone on the floor. "John, talk to her. You're a doctor!"

Alex's thin arms shook as she struggled to pull herself up from the floor and only managed to make it to her hands and knees. She shuffled over to the phone will extreme effort.

"I'm back," she whispered hoarsely.

"Alex, what's wrong? Have you got any head injuries or deep wounds? Concussion?" John rattled off, fully in doctor mode.

"I don't feel well," she breathed, her voice getting smaller and smaller.

"I know," he answered gently. "I know you don't, tell me what is wrong and I can help you."

"I feel sick. And… my head hurts. My chest feels tight and… my arms and legs… my body… I can't… they're all weak," she managed to say.

"What started it?" John asked extremely worriedly.

"Drowned," she muttered, her chin hitting the floor with a small thump.

"You _drowned_?" John repeated incredulously, exclaims of _'what?!' _in the background.

"I'm hungry."

"When was the last time you had something to eat?"

"I don't know… ten days ago?"

"But you haven't been gone that long!"

"I wasn't hungry before," Alex replied rather drunkenly. "Urgh… everything spins. Make it stop, John. Make it stop!"

"You need to get something to eat somehow, Alex. But don't eat it all in one go when you do or you'll throw up again. Look, time's running out and I need to give you back to Sherlock. Be careful, Alex. We'll come and get you soon, just hang on."

The scuffling resurfaced until it was Sherlock's voice again.

"I need you to tell me everything that has happened and quickly," he demanded.

"I woke up in this basement three or four days ago and Moriarty said that I had to do these test things. The first was archery. I had to hit the target three out of the six times or I was killed. I did it eventually and then the second was lock picking. I was shoved in this box, thing. I had to pick the lock on it while it f-filled with water," Alex swallowed painfully. "I couldn't do it. It went past my head and then I remember there being no air. I tried to breathe… Moriarty said I died for a moment. Everything went black and I woke up here. He won't give me food. He said that he knows stuff… about Mum."

"What stuff?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know. He said if I survive, he'll tell me," Alex was beginning to drift even further.

"Listen to me, don't believe anything he says. He doesn't know anything about your mother, he is just trying to hurt you. Just ignore him."

"I have another test soon," Alex said dreamily.

"What? What's the test?"

"I d-don't know. He doesn't tell me… Sherlock?"

"Yes?" Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together as he realised they had twenty seconds left.

"Could you ring Logan, please?"

Though he wasn't exactly happy about it, he replied nonetheless with, "No problem."

Just as Alex opened her mouth to thank him, the door reopened and Moriarty stepped in.

"Time's up, Alessandra."

"No," Alex muttered, hiding the phone behind her back.

She could vaguely hear the quiet voice of Sherlock yelling at her to hand it over, but since the phone wasn't to her ear, it was easy to disobey it.

"Alex," Moriarty warned, walking further towards her. "Don't make me take it from you."

Alex was already feeling her grip on consciousness slip but somehow managed to keep her feet steady and her eyes determined, "You have tortured me, mocked me, hurt me, and actually killed me. So I should be allowed this, please. Just let me talk to my family and I will do whatever you want."

"You know I can't do that. That would take away the fun. Now hand over the phone or I will come over there and break your wrist. Or rather, Moran will break your wrist," he motioned to Sebastian who had slipped in quietly a few seconds previous.

"Please, have a little empathy. Please," Alex could feel her tears brimming again. "I'm only fourteen. How would you have felt at my age and being totally cut off from everything?"

Moriarty's top lip curled up in a grin, "I would have felt empowered. And you will, too. Just you watch. Now I won't ask you again. Give. Me. The. Phone."

Alex watched Moran curl his fist in anticipation and hoped to God that this was just another test. If she stood her ground, she would be able to talk to her family.

Her mouth moved before she had properly thought it through as she whispered, "No."

As if hooked up to an electrical pylon, Moran shot forward and grasped Alex's wrist in a vice-like grip. Alex cried out in pain but held onto the phone tightly.

"Let go of me!" Alex tried to shout but it only came out as a whimper.

Moran looked back to Moriarty over his shoulder. Jim nodded his consent,

"Break it."

Alex sucked in a sharp breath and tried to wriggle away. However, Moran's arm had already jerked her own back on itself, causing a sharp crack to fill the air. Fiery pain spread up through her nerves as Alex let out an agonized yell. She promptly dropped the phone and cradled her broken wrist.

Moran grinned at his handiwork and stooped down to pick up the dropped phone. When it had been dropped, the call had been knocked off.

_I didn't even get to say goodbye_, Alex thought painfully.

Moriarty surveyed his phone and tutted at the cracked screen, "Ah, Alex. Look what you have done to my new phone. I think that deserves a punishment."

Jim bent down and scooped up the bottle of water near the door that had been Alex's only lifeline.

"You can get this back in three days," he smiled as if doing her a great favour.

"No…" Alex groaned both in pain and misery.

"Hey, cheer up! You have just reached the halfway mark in your tests!" Moriarty chirped.

"This was a test?"

"Yup."

_I was right. Oh, thank The Lord for that._

"Your next test is tomorrow. I won't give you any more clues, but I would work on your strength. Bye!" Jim exclaimed cheerfully and ducked out of the room, Moran following behind.

Alex let out an exhausted and pain filled sigh before slumping against the wall and supporting her swelling wrist. The tests weren't going to kill her, she realized, the lack of food and water was. Moriarty said she needed strength but she had never seen her arms so skinny. Her skin was stretched tightly over her bones and had a sickly pallor to it. Dehydration and lack of fresh air was speeding up the process.

"I'm dead. That's it," she mumbled miserably.

"No, you aren't."

Alex again jumped at the Scottish voice of the guard on the inside of the door, "Yes, I am. And why would you want to convince me otherwise?" She spat.

The man stepped forward out of the shadow and Alex saw that he was middle aged and as thin as she was. He knelt down in front of her, lowering his voice to a hurried whisper.

"Because you're right. I watched you drown and did nothing, and that is unforgivable. Now stand up."

"Why should I?"

"Because I have three hours to teach you how to fight."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, katniss12, GottaLoveTen, Rose Tomlinson, RainbowSilenced, Meg, AnotherDamnMexican149, jokerharley1980, Abi Tandy, and Skye Boat for reviewing!<strong>

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**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X **


	60. Gone Girl - Part 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Spain's going great! But I was up half the night editing and rewriting this. It's been a nightmare! Anyway, I hope it's worth it.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_The man stepped forward out of the shadow and Alex saw that he was middle aged and as thin as she was. He knelt down in front of her, lowering his voice to a hurried whisper._

_"Because you're right. I watched you drown and did nothing, and that is unforgivable. Now stand up."_

_"Why should I?"_

_"Because I have three hours to teach you how to fight."_

"Fight? Is that the next test? Do I have to fight someone?" Alex asked, subconsciously running a hand over her scrawny arms.

"It's the test after the next one."

"So what is the next one? Do I have to jump through a ring of fire or something?" Alex snorted.

"I have no idea what the next one is going to be but I wouldn't think it as something that isn't horrible. All I know is that you have to fight someone here and you have to win or you die," the Scottish man – known as William – stated bluntly.

"Do you know who I have to fight?"

William took in a breath and told her almost apologetically, "Sebastian Moran."

Alex's eyes widened. Sebastian Moran? Sebastian bloody Moran? The guy who threw her over his shoulder as if she weighed less than a bag of sugar?

"You have got to be kidding me," Alex groaned, pressing her hand to her forehead.

"I'm not. So stop moaning about it, come over here and give yourself a chance against him, or I might as well just shoot you in the head right now," William snapped irritably.

Alex recoiled a little at his tone but complied realising that this was her only possible hope of surviving. She silently vowed to take self-defence classes when she got home - _If _she got home.

"Right, first things first: the rules. Okay, rule one: there are no rules. When you are fighting for your life, rules fly out of the window. Just do anything you can do to survive and foul play is encouraged. You need to have confidence because Moran used to be a poacher before becoming one of us - he has been trained to recognise weak prey. You cannot show him that you are vulnerable," William explained.

"But look at me; I am the face of vulnerability. I have seen sticks with more meat on them than me! And I just drowned, remember," Alex disputed.

"Well then you can't let them know how much it weakened you, simple as that. The next thing is you need to stay aware of your surroundings. If Moran gets in a good punch, you will be disorientated at the least. He can then have the full element of surprise when you have your back turned stumbling around. The same goes for body language. Moran is one of the most talented fighters I have seen but you can still notice little things that will give you an inkling into what his next move is going to be. For example, his left foot could step back when he is about to swing a punch with his right fist. You need that kind of insight if you want to defend yourself."

"Okay," Alex nodded her head slowly. "I think I get it. So who makes the first move? Do I let him try and then jump back?"

"No," William immediately dismissed. "That is exactly what he will expect. You need to move in first and get a good blow in while he is laid-back and confident. That will rattle him without a doubt. After he has recovered his pride, though, you have lost the element of surprise and he will regain the advantage."

"So I need to act first and then go into the defensive?" Alex summarised, feeling her hopes lift slightly.

"Exactly. When you punch, aim for the jaw, temple or throat. Only go for the throat if you aim to kill your opponent or if you have no other choice. I can't predict the future, Alex, but you make a pretty accurate guess that is one of you is going to have that move. It has to be you," William gripped her shoulders in a way that vaguely reminded Alex of Sherlock. "You need to do this. I won't have your death on my conscience as well."

Alex looked up into William's eyes and saw the sadness that her own often held.

"I know the feeling," she uttered softly.

The Scottish man cleared his throat and looked away, quite alarmed at the amount of empathy a mere fourteen year old was showing him, "That is all you need. And a little bit of luck, of course."

Alex nodded and flicked a stray piece of hair out of her face.

"I don't think I'm going to get through this," she said honestly.

"Hey, what did I tell you about confidence? That isn't going to get you anywhere. These techniques that I have shown you don't just apply to surviving the fighting test, but all of the tests," William advised wisely.

Alex bobbed her head and leaned against the wall, contemplating what William had just said. Then something hit her. No, she couldn't. Could she?

"You're right."

"Hm?" William queried.

"I can use this to survive. I can use it to get the hell out of here," Alex grinned maniacally with a scary amount of fire in her eyes.

"Whoa, whoa," William out his hands up and shook his head. "Slow down. I have shown you how to stand an average chance against one person, not the whole Spanish Armada that's waiting outside for you."

Alex pushed off from the wall, for the first time since she had arrived, not feeling dizzy, "I'm faster than I look. All I have to do is take out a couple of them and then make a break for it."

William's voice was now a hushed whisper, "Try that and you will die. No question about it. You were just saying two seconds ago how you don't think you are going to make it. If you try and escape, you can _know _you won't make it!"

"I would rather die trying to get back to my family than die as some stupid pawn on Moriarty's chessboard," Alex hissed back.

William pursed his lips in anger, knowing that he had no retort for that.

"But I'll need your help," Alex continued. "You know the way around here and you know how to get out. You can tell me and there will be no-"

William clamped a hand over Alex's mouth and pushed her back against the wall before darting back to the door. Alex let out a cry of pain and surprise. Just as she was about to shout some verbal abuse to William, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and the door being unlocked, and she understood.

William stood aside as the door swung open and Moriarty once again stood in the archway.

"How's Alex, then?" he asked with a beaming smile. "Better for speaking to your family?"

"Yes, thanks," Alex ground through gritted teeth.

"Good, good. How would you feel about this time speaking to your friends? Does the name Logan ring any bells? Or how about… April?"

Alex felt pure rage rip through her veins as she dived forward and gripped the lapels of Moriarty's suit with her unbroken hand.

"YOU LEAVE THEM ALONE!" she roared, shaking Moriarty viciously.

Hands suddenly wrapped around Alex's wrists and neck and forced her back away from Jim. She struggled and lashed out but the hands held her sturdily. She noted that it was William.

Moriarty casually brushed down his suit and tutted, "What have I told you about violence, Alessandra?"

"Leave my friends alone. You have me and you have my family, you don't need them," Alex spoke in a false calm.

"Ah, see, I _would,_" Moriarty stepped forward with that infuriating smirk on his face. "But I already have them."

"What?" Alex breathed as Moriarty snapped his fingers.

The door opened again and four people entered. Two burly men had their arms wrapped around a struggling Logan and a crying April.

"Logan! April!" Alex cried out and began to thrash even harder against William.

"Alex!" Logan yelled, kneeing his captor in the groin and sprinting forwards.

Moriarty thrust out his hand and gripped Logan's neck as he ran towards Alex. Logan's hand flew to his throat as Jim began to squeeze his windpipe.

"Stop it! Please, stop! I'll do anything, just let them go!" Alex whimpered.

Seeing her friends in such pain because of her caused her more agony than any wound Moriarty had inflicted upon her.

Moriarty pressed his face close to Logan's, "He's been a bad boy, this one. It's funny, he sort of reminds me of you."

"Let him go," a tear slid from Alex's eye as she watched Logan's lips begin to quiver.

Moriarty locked eyes with Alex and dropped Logan. He fell barely conscious to the floor. Moriarty walked forward and let his hand rest gently on Alex's cheek. He wiped away her tear with the pad of his thumb. Alex trembled at his soft touch; somehow him being so tender was so much more terrifying than anything else. In a flash, his hand had withdrawn and connected again with Alex's face with a sharp slap.

"Ah!" Alex cried, holding her jaw.

She knew there would be bruises forming there soon.

Moriarty leaned close and whispered in her ear, "You don't tell me what to do, sweetheart. From now on, you do something that I don't like and I will shoot one of your friends, starting with the girl. Okay?"

More tears were spilling out of her eyes as Alex desperately nodded her head and whispered, "Yes, yes."

"Good girl."

Moriarty drew back from Alex – to her relief – and stepped back to the doorway.

"Let the kid go and leave them. They can't do any harm."

The man holding April pushed her to the floor roughly and slammed the door behind him. As soon as they were alone, Alex hurried over to Logan and rolled him on his back.

"Logan? Logan, can you hear me?" she asked gently, running a hand through his hair.

Logan groaned and blearily opened his eyes. He slowly grinned as he recognised Alex's anxious face.

"Hello, Holmes. Long time, no see."

Alex let out a teary laugh and pulled him up, embracing him.

"I've missed you so much," she murmured, chin atop his head.

"Me too."

A little sob made them both jump apart quickly. Alex rushed over to April and pulled her into a hug.

"Are you okay, April? Are you hurt?"

"M-my kn-knees hurt," April blubbered, burying her face in the crook of Alex's neck.

Logan knelt next to her and rolled up the grubby trouser legs of April's pyjama bottoms. On her kneecaps were little scratches from where she had been pushed to the floor. They weren't bleeding much and were not a cause for alarm but still painful to a four year old.

"It's fine, April, they are just grazed," Logan reassured her with a smile.

"Have you two already met?" Alex asked, puzzled.

"We've both been here since they took you, we heard you yelling at Moriarty from our room."

Alex looked to her feet in shame, "I'm so sorry, you two. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be here now, you would be at home like any other normal person."

Logan squeezed her shoulder.

"I wouldn't be," April muttered conversationally from Alex's shoulder. "I don't have a home, remember."

Alex patted the young girl's back, sighing at how innocent she was in all of this. And yet, there she was in her pink princess pyjamas and skinned knees. Alex narrowed her eyes in determination and turned to William, who was watching the scene with mild interest.

"There is no option now. We're leaving tonight, whether you approve of it or not," Alex declared resolutely.

William nodded, realising that her mind had been made up, "So what do you want me to do?"

Alex passed April over to Logan who wrapped his arms around her protectively. Alex stood up and walked closer to William.

"When is the next guard change?"

"In twenty-five minutes," he replied.

Alex blanched and a course of fear ran through her. Twenty five minutes. That was only twenty five minutes until she was to risk everything.

"What time is it?" Alex questioned, pushing away the churning feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Ten o'clock. It is just getting dusk now so in half an hour you should have the cover of darkness," William searched Alex's eyes. "Are you sure you are up to this? You aren't only risking _your_ life, here."

Alex looked over her shoulder at a sniffling April sitting on Logan's lap. He caught her eye and gave a subtle, sharp nod. She licked her lips and turned back to William.

"Yes," Alex answered gravely. "We can't stay here and wait until one of us gets killed."

"Okay. Tell me your plan, then."

Alex took in a breath and relayed the plan that she had been formulating for the past few minutes.

"When the new guard comes in to relieve you, you knock him unconscious or do something that will incapacitate him. You then lead us up to the exit and we make a break for it. And if anyone gets in our way, we'll fight them."

William snorted, "You'll lose."

"Maybe," Alex nodded, unfazed. "But while one of us is getting killed, the other two are left with a clear opportunity to escape whilst whoever is there is distracted."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Alex fixed William with a steely stare as she said, "Deadly."

"You have twenty three minutes, then."

* * *

><p>Dennis Townsend laid back lazily in his chair, surrounded by his colleagues.<p>

"Is Seb up with the Boss?" he asked casually.

"Yeah. They'll be talking about something to do with the girl probably, though I don't know why they have this weird obsession with her. I like the little kid we have. She gave Manson a bloody nose," one man chortled gleefully.

Townsend smirked and looked at the watch strapped to his wrist, "I better be off anyway. Got to take over from Will. I reckon he's gettin' a bit soft as he's gettin' older, mind you. Shame, he used to be one of the most ruthless men I ever met."

The others around the room nodded in agreement. Townsend took a long, last drag of his cigarette before throwing it down and squashing it on the floor and heading off to the basement. He trapped down the steps and opened the door.

"Will? You down here, mate?" he called out, surprised at the darkness of the room. "What are you-?"

A hand clamped over Townsend's mouth and nose and pressed down tightly. He clawed at the hand and kicked back against however was holding him, trying desperately to breathe, but the hand held strong. Finally, Townsend's eyes flickered shut and his body fell limp.

William allowed the body to fall under the force of gravity and flicked on the light, revealing Logan, Alex and little April. April was clinging to both their hands, a terrified look on her face and her body shrouded in a black travelling cloak.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" Alex burst out, staring in shock at the unmoving body.

"An old friend of mine, Oskar Dzundza – the Golem, I believe he likes to be called," William mentioned offhandedly.

"_You're friends with the Golem?" _Alex's jaw dropped before she remembered where she was. "Sorry, there is no time for this. Lead the way."

William beckoned through the doorway and Alex and Logan increased the pressure on April's hand as they followed him. It was the first time any of the trio had seen outside one of the rooms down in the basement. The stairs, Alex noted with confusion, were multi-coloured glass with little LED lights buried inside them.

The steps were extremely steep, so April was given a piggy-back up them from Logan. She clung tightly to his neck.

Once at the top of the stairs, William turned to Alex.

"You follow this corridor and turn left. On that turn, there will be a guard there. Just remember what I told you and you should be fine. Go into the room on the left turn and walk to the end of it. There will be a fire exit at the end. Once you are out, get as far away as you can from here. Don't worry about where you're going, just run," William ordered urgently, his eyes darting in all directions.

"What about you?" Alex asked with a frown.

"I need to stay here. It is for the best."

"They'll kill you. You know that. You can come with us. Once we get to London my uncle will provide you with protection, I promise. You can escape too," Alex encouraged quietly.

At the mention of her uncle, William snorted, then sobered.

"I'll never escape the things that I've done. This is the only way," William looked down at the floor forlornly. He hastily composed himself. "Now, once you get away from here, don't go directly to London under any circumstances. Moriarty will predict that. Go north and stay somewhere off the beaten track up there for a week or so until you have completely thrown them off your scent. Then you can go home."

"I am not leaving you here to die," Alex stated firmly.

"You have to-" William broke off as the sound of footsteps echoed across the hallway.

Alex felt her heart begin to race, "You really aren't coming?"

"No."

"Then I'm sorry," Alex whispered as she pulled back her fist and swung it forcibly against the side of his jaw. Enough to knock him unconscious. Thankfully, it wasn't her right hand that was broken.

She turned on her heel and grabbed Logan's hand, "Hurry!"

April climbed off Logan's back and ran alongside them up the corridor, all three completely petrified.

"Will?! William?! What the hell?!" a voice bellowed as the footsteps reached William's unconscious body.

The man looked up just in time to see one of April's plaits disappear around the corner.

"THE KIDS HAVE GOT OUT!"

"No," Alex breathed, quickening her pace.

They reached the left turn and sure enough, the guard turned at the shout of his comrade and almost managed to yell before Logan swung his leg against the man's torso, lifting him off the ground and sending him flying into the wall. Alex finished him off with a knee in the face and he slumped unconsciously on the floor.

"There's the room," April murmured quietly, following her orders of not shouting.

"Good girl, April," Alex praised and ducked into the room indicated.

She held the door open for the others and let it swing shut quietly behind her. Commotion could be heard outside in the corridor as the news spread that the 'kids' had gotten free.

"We don't have much time," Alex panted.

She turned back to the others and almost cried out in shock as an image of her stared back at her. Logan and April were experiencing the same thing. It was a hall of mirrors. And the footsteps were getting closer to the door.

"They're coming," April warbled, on the verge of tears again.

Logan scooped her up into his arms and grabbed Alex with his free hand, dragging them through the hall. Many times they collided headlong with one of the mirrors and had to feel around for an opening. Alex repressed a whimper every time her broken hand clattered against the glass.

"THEY ARE IN 'ERE! THEY'RE IN THE MIRROR ROOM!"

Panic rose in Alex's throat like bile as a sharp crack whipped through the air and the mirror above them shattered, sending fragments of glass raining down on them. Another gunshot rang out and the trio powered forward.

The fluorescent lighting flickered to add to the disorientation and suddenly everything was a haze of swirling colours, making their heads spin. Everything bled into each other like a poor quality film reel, including the actual blood oozing from the slashes made by the sharp broken glass.

Alex couldn't breathe.

More gunshots.

Logan grunted in pain.

April cried.

They had to find… what was it they had to find?

Another gunshot.

Alex saw something ahead of them.

It was green.

Illuminating green.

The fire exit!

Another gunshot.

Alex grappled once again for Logan and April's hands and forced herself forwards, blocking out every other spinning object apart from the exit. She pushed down on the silver bar and the door swung open revealing the impenetrable darkness of night.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, Bulletpr00fYears, Rose Tomlinson, katniss12, YUNeLenna, abi tandy, OnceUponADeduction, Crossing the Galaxy 22, E I Cochrane, and jokerharley1980 for reviewing!<strong>

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**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	61. Gone Girl - Part 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Here's another chapter in the same day! You can tell I'm on holiday!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex grappled once again for Logan and April's hands and forced herself forwards, blocking out every other spinning object apart from the exit. She pushed down on the silver bar and the door swung open revealing the impenetrable darkness of night._

The first thing Alex did was inhale a massive lungful of crisp, night air to steady her blurring vision. The door had opened onto some sort of country field, not resembling London in the slightest. That breath full of air had been all the indicator she had needed to know that they were near a farm.

"C'mon," Logan urged, tugging on her arm and reminding her of the situation.

"Where?" she asked under her breath.

Logan's eyes darted around, him being the more alert person at the time. He could see how Alex was waning, what little strength she had left was failing. His frantic gaze made out in the darkness, a large metal structure like a giant spider web. No doubt some lunatic sticking some crowbars together and calling it modern art. It may not have been nice to look at in the dark, but it seemed a damn good hiding place in Logan's eyes.

"Over there," he clasped April and Alex's hands in his own and sprinted - back arched in concealment – toward the structure.

It was only a few metres away. April, being the smallest, was able to crouch down lower behind one of the metal bars. Alex and Logan laid flat on their backs on the grass.

"I can hear –" April began at normal speaking volume, causing Alex to clap a hand to the younger girl's mouth, her injured one close to her chest.

April gave her a reproachful look but didn't need to finish her sentence as from the doorway, two men burst out, laden with pistols. They spun around wildly, their eyes like fire and perspiration thick on their foreheads. One was sporting a bloody nose. Both were chanting vulgar words desperately, almost whimpering.

Alex heard Him before she saw Him as his shadow fell upon the open door, the rest of Him catching up soon after it.

"Have you got her?" the uncharacteristically calm voice of Moriarty asked.

There was no doubt that he had inflicted the injury upon his men. Alex subconsciously tightened her grip on Logan's hand and pressed April further to the ground.

"N-no, s-s-sir. They can't have gone far, sir, though, sir. We'll get them, I swear," one of the fumbled, latching onto the other for support. "I mean, she's only a girl-"

Moriarty thrust out his hand and struck the man across the face with so much force that Alex recoiled. She felt April stiffen beneath her and just managed to cover her mouth again before a soft shriek could tumble from her lips.

"SHE IS NOT 'JUST A GIRL'! That is what you all have thought, and that's why you thought it was acceptable to slack off! She is a bloody Holmes! And Logan! _Logan! _You _know _not to underestimate Logan! Now get out of here and bring them back to me _alive_, or I will BREAK YOUR LEGS!" Moriarty roared, spittle flying from his quivering lips.

The men didn't need telling twice and stumbled over themselves to get as far away as they could, and to find 'those kids' as fast as they could. Moriarty watched them go with disgust and revulsion before turning his back and heading back into the prefabricated building that he had come from – and where Alex, Logan and April had been held.

One of the men spoke up from where he was unhelpfully prodding a bush, "We need to search the ground. If we don't get the little shits back to the Boss pronto…"

That was all Alex needed to hear.

"We have to get above ground," she whispered. "They'll find us no problem here."

Logan ran a hand through his grimy hair, willing himself to think.

_Come on, Logan_, he encouraged in his mind. _Come on, think, think, think, think, think, think, um… uh… argh! I don't know. Above ground – where above ground? Come on you pathetic excuse of a man, THINK!_

"What about up?" April suggested quietly, pointing upwards.

Alex followed the imaginary line that the finger drew and her dawning eyes fell upon the metal bars all connected into each other, hanging above their heads. Like a climbing wall.

"How are we meant to get up there?" Logan asked sceptically. "The gaps are way too big."

April slumped in defeat, turning her back and fading into a childish sulk that her idea wasn't worthy. But Alex didn't notice; she barely heard Logan at all. Her eyes were focussed solely on the bars. Her mind began to draw lines and routes across them, planning it out rationally and carefully, calculating the width and the length, the angles.

Just like Sherlock.

Logan was too busy searching for another escape route and keeping an eye on the men coming ever closer, to realise what Alex was doing. She stooped down further and made April climb unsteadily onto her back. April in her sulking didn't say a word, just buried her chin in Alex's hair. She had to be perfect.

Just like Sherlock.

Alex reached up and hoisted herself and April up onto the first bar, using one hand. Her bodyweight had dropped severely over the week, but so had her strength. Nevertheless, she powered on. April's warm little body wriggling on her back was all the incentive she needed.

With only one hand working, it was more of a swinging motion, her right hand and legs doing all of the work.

Second bar, third bar, fourth bar, fifth bar.

By now, Logan had noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and was about to shout in protest until he realised that any sound at all would alert the men to their whereabouts. He settled for glaring at her and begrudgingly following after her, hoping that they weren't making a massive mistake.

Alex was almost half way up the structure now and was perched precariously in the middle of the 'web' or whatever it was. Sweat stained her clothes and her hair clung closely to her skin, but she was okay. Exhausted but okay.

It wasn't long until Logan caught up with her. Unlike Alex, Logan and April had been given food, even if it was a measly portion, so he still retained most of his power and drive.

"I hope you have a plan from here, Alex-baby, 'coz we're in the middle of a giant metal structure and that isn't exactly covert," he groaned, pulling himself up to sit on level with her and April.

"Shut up. I don't see you spouting any great suggestions," Alex retorted, stung by Logan's incredulity.

He turned to face her, "I just want you to stop and think for a minute before blundering off like you do every time and almost get killed. In case you haven't noticed, we have to look after April now. Stop with the whole hero complex."

"I do _not _have a hero complex! I'm just trying to get out of here because I've spent the last few days in hell so I would watch your mouth before I send you where we've just left," Alex hissed.

"Stop fighting, guys," April's little voice stopped Logan's riposte immediately. "Don't be like my sister and Mum."

Alex's rigid posture softened at April's words. They sounded so innocent and untainted. So vulnerable.

"We aren't fighting, April. We're just trying to think of a way to keep you safe," Alex said, locking eyes with Logan and silently agreeing to disagree.

April nodded and ducked back into Alex's neck, her rosy cheeks and nose now icy cold.

The wind was inclement and harsh; making it difficult to hear what was being said below them, but not impossible.

"We can't do this in the dark," one of the boors exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "We need to put the lights on."

"I know," the other sighed. "I'll go and flick on the power."

The all-too-familiar metallic taste of panic spurted back into Alex's throat, as she swallowed the uncouth expression on the tip of her tongue and scurried to the edge of the bar to make a hasty retreat, Logan doing the same.

But where? Where could they go?

"Alex!" Logan yelled over the now shrilly resounding wind. "Over there! Hurry!"

Gripping April in a constricting grip, Alex followed after Logan, travelling horizontally to the left of the structure. Obviously, Logan could see a hideaway that she couldn't. However, the closer she got scooting along; she saw that on the edge of the 'web' were little pods.

It was in that moment that Alex realised where they were. And what they were on. It was a theme park, and they were hiding on the Ferris wheel. And if the goon was going to turn the lights on, it would illuminate the whole park.

A sudden burst of new urgency flowing through her, Alex wriggled faster, her hair whipping about her face, slicing at her skin like thousands of tiny pine needles. A particularly large clump of hair wafted into her eyes, blinding her for a moment. She reached up to bat it out of the way, but lost her footing.

"Alex!" April screamed in terror, squeezing tighter as they began to fall.

Alex's foot completely slipped, causing her to fall sideways. She managed to throw up her hands and clasp around the pole, then quickly withdrawing her left with a cry. She was dangling at thirty feet with weak, malnourished arms and a child on her back.

"April," Alex shouted over her shoulder frantically. "Climb up onto my shoulders and scoot along the pole, Logan will get you, I promise."

Sure enough, Logan was hurrying back across the pole, though whether for Alex or April, it was unclear. But there was pure fear shining in his eyes.

"Go, April," Alex urged, gritting her teeth. "I'm slipping!"

Seeing that she was in no way helping the situation, April scrambled up Alex's back and tottered onto the pole, shaking from head-to-toe with trepidation and chill.

"I can't do it!" she cried out suddenly, her tiny fingers clenched into quivering fists.

"You can! Logan's coming, just try and wriggle!"

"It's too far down! I'm gonna die, Alex! Help me!" tears tumbled down her face.

Alex let out a low moan. The effort of keeping herself up was immeasurable. She could feel herself beginning to slide. But April had to live. She _had _to. Even if both her and Logan died, April had to live.

"Please, April."

There was so much emotion in Alex's voice and in her pleading eyes. So much defeat and desperation that April was powerless against obeying – no matter how much she didn't want to – and tremulously staggered across. It only took a few steps until Logan swept her into his arms, but to little April, it felt like miles.

Alex watched as Logan carried April over to the Ferris wheel carriage, stroking her back and soothing her as he pushed her in the carriage.

"Stay down," he ordered and precariously inched around to do a three sixty turn and shuffle back to Alex.

"Logan… get back to April!" Alex yelled at him as he was halfway to her. "The lights are going to come on and then we'll both be screwed!"

"I'm not leaving you, idiot!" he kept moving along as he spoke.

"Logan -"

The tendons in the inside of Alex's wrist protruded, the flesh underneath her nails turning a phantom white. Her legs swung like a rag doll. A tiny, insignificant feather wafting in the wind.

Everything slowed down. The wind created a vacuum about her head, giving every movement a surrealism only experienced in the direst of situations. Alex couldn't hold on any longer. Her fingers uncurled, her eyes fluttered shut… and she fell.

Suddenly, a hand wrapped around hers, keeping her suspended in mid-air. She looked up in shock and saw Logan. His face was contorted in effort and his teeth bared.

"Logan…"

He braced his muscles and pulled backwards, hoisting Alex up effortlessly. She landed waveringly on her feet, Logan's hand on her hips to steady her. She was quivering under his grasp.

"Adrenaline?" he asked with a knowing smile.

"I don't think it ever wore off," she panted back with an amused lilt in her voice.

He grinned back, their previous argument forgotten. He looked down into her sapphire eyes and her into his chocolate ones and suddenly felt a spark of something that they hadn't felt for a long time. Hope.

"We need to go," Alex stated, crashing back to reality.

He nodded and they linked arms to stop themselves from falling and give extra support, Alex leaning on Logan a little more than she would have liked.

Once they reached the carriage, April held out her hand and helped them in, all three ducking down out of sight just in time for a piercing crack to sound, signifying the flicking of the switch.

Alex craned her neck over the bar of the carriage so that only her eyes were showing. The park was lighting up bit-by-bit. A large chunk at the back flickered and what used to be just dark field was now a brightly lit, multi-coloured theme park. Everything began to turn on, the teacups began to spin, the cups absent of any children; the sound posts blared out the infernal circus/park tune; a log flume crashed into a pool of water, the only occupant the ghosts of the night. And they didn't pay the admission fee.

April shuffled closer to her, peeking out from the bars as well.

"Won't someone realise that the park is open and come in?" she asked.

"I think it's disused," Alex replied. "Everything looks to old and rickety to be new. Besides, what kind of park turns all the rides on with one switch? Bit of a safety hazard."

"This bit's lighting up, now," Logan pointed out, the wave of lambent lights coming closer to them.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, blinding lights suddenly sprung to life and the Ferris wheel lurched, making the carriage swing hazardously before beginning to move like the other rides.

"Stay down," Logan said.

The carriage made its way to the pinnacle of the wheel, giving the trio a perfect lookout. Blinking to let her eyes adjust to the light, Alex squinted through her lashes and saw where they had been kept for the last week, the building.

"It's a funhouse," she murmured to Logan and April, a look of repulsion on her face. "That's why there was the Hall of Mirrors. And the archery and the escapology act."

"And the lights in the floor," April piped up.

Alex nodded before turning to Logan, "Can you see the men?"

It took a few sweeps of the park until he managed to pinpoint the exact location of the bumbling fools that were scurrying around in a frenzy looking for them.

"Over there," Logan pointed. "They can't be more than three minutes away."

"We need to get off. Now."

The ride was now a quarter of the way back down, making a terrible groaning sound that was a panicky reminder of the current opening status of the park.

"On the count of three, we jump."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, E I Cochrane, greysoth4ever, <strong>**lequeenofmoondoor, Quartz Kitkat, Rose Tomlinson, GottaLoveTen, RainbowSilenced, AnotherDamnMexican149, Crossing the Galaxy 22, jokerharley1980, abi tandy, and VioletErin26 for reviewing!**

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**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	62. Gone Girl - Part 8

**Disclaimer:** **I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex.**

**Author's Note:** **So sorry for the lack of updates for two weeks *cringes* but good news! I have broken up for summer! Yey! That means chapters :DD It was also my birthday last week so it is my first chapter as a fourteen year old!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_It took a few sweeps of the park until he managed to pinpoint the exact location of the bumbling fools that were scurrying around in a frenzy looking for them._

_"Over there," Logan pointed. "They can't be more than three minutes away."_

_"We need to get off. Now."_

_The ride was now a quarter of the way back down, making a terrible groaning sound that was a panicky reminder of the current opening status of the park._

_"On the count of three, we jump."_

The wheel was approaching the ground fast, too fast. Alex knew that she had to go, that she had to jump very soon, but she wanted to hold on as long as she could.

"One… two," Alex bunched up the back of April's shirt in her fist. "Three!"

Logan kicked the door to the carriage wide open as he and Alex lunged out, April being dragged through the air behind them. They hit the ground with a rough 'oomph', wincing and gasping for breath on their backs, winded. When they thought the first stage was complete, April let out a loud yelp.

"My wrist, my wrist!" she cried.

"Shush, April. Quickly!" Logan ordered, pulling himself together and grabbing April's other hand to drag her to the cover of trees that lined the park.

Alex was about to follow suit when something made her stop. Instinct. A horde of voices suddenly spoke up, hissing threats and spouting profanities. She climbed to her feet and stood waveringly in full view, an easy target.

"Alex, what are you doing, you idiot?!" Logan whispered harshly from the trees. "Get over here!"

Alex turned her head towards Logan. Their eyes met. Hers were determined, his were pleading. He knew that she would try something like this. It would work, no doubt about that, but it was what would have to be sacrificed for it to.

"Don't, Alex," he breathed. "Stop."

Alex swallowed the lump in her throat and shook her head.

"Keep her safe," she mouthed.

Logan opened his mouth to respond, his eyes glimmering strangely in the light of the park, but someone else spoke up first.

"There she is! Look! Over there! It's the kid! It's the bloody kid!"

Alex's hands balled into fists as she spoke one word to April and Logan before turning to her opponent,

"Run."

Alex let out a breath of relief as the sound of pounding feet faded away into the treeline. Logan and April were safe for now; now she could concentrate.

The man who had shouted out rounded the corner behind a hotdog stand and skidded to a halt in front of her. She made no effort to move.

"You're in a whole load o' trouble, you are. Mr Moriarty isn't best pleased. You're a right piece o' work."

Alex shrugged in unconcern. Her face remained indifferent. Confused as to why the girl wasn't showing the fear that he had expected her to, the man – Ethan Duroch – snarled slightly and reached into the waistband of his jeans, pulling out a .45 pistol.

"Really?" Alex raised an eyebrow, quashing her fear the best she could. "That's just sad."

She brought up her leg and, catching Duroch unawares, managed to knock the hand with the pistol in, and send it flying into her hand. Her fingers curled around it as she pulled back the hammer of the gun. Terror sparked in Duroch's eyes, realising that he was not playing with an ordinary girl.

"And yes, I do know how to use it," Alex said, answering his unasked question. "Now keep your mouth shut or I will shoot you in the chest. Understand?"

Duroch nodded, never breaking eye contact with the glimmering black machine in the girl's hand.

"Good. Brace yourself."

"What for?"

"This," Alex answered simply and pulled the trigger.

The bullet swam through the air and embedded itself into Duroch's shoulder. His mouth parted to let out a scream, but was smothered by Alex's gun-wielding hand. She hoped he couldn't feel her shaking.

He kept trying to scream.

"No, no. That's my job," Alex said, trying not to think too much about what she had just done.

_He is a bad man, he is evil, he has killed people, _she repeated to herself as she opened her mouth and forced out the loudest scream that she could muster. Duroch looked at her through his pain-filled eyes and bit down on her hand. Blood immediately poured from the puncture marks, making Alex gasp.

He was going to jeopardize the plan.

"Here – " Duroch managed to yell, before the butt of the gun connected with his skull with a sickening crack, cutting him off and making him fall to the ground.

A fleeting look told Alex that he was still conscious but the trauma had made him dazed and confused.

She lifted up the gun and aimed it at the treeline, lining it up with one with a particularly thick bark. The shot made a neat round hole. Behind her, voices and thundering feet could be heard. It was time to run, something she had no problem with.

Pressing the gun into Duroch's unresponsive hand, she sprung to her feet and ran hell for leather in the opposite direction of the impaled tree. She shrank back into the forest that surrounded the park, praying that her plan would work.

* * *

><p>Jim Moriarty was furious. No, he was beyond furious. How could this have happened? How on Earth could that little Holmes have escaped? He was supposed to have the most illustrious and skilled team in Britain, so how could they have lost a bloody child?!<p>

He thundered down the stupid rainbow lit stairs down to where William still lay slumped up against the wall. Moriarty let out a breath to calm himself and knelt next to him, brushed one of the older man's greying locks out of the way. Beneath was a fist sized purpling bruise, fading into yellow around the edge.

"What has become of you William?" Moriarty sighed to the unconscious man. "I used to look up to you. Now look at you; unconscious by the hands of a fourteen year old."

He let the hair fall back over the bruise and straightened up, looking down at his colleague and long-time friend.

"I'll deal with you later."

He turned back the way he came and just when he thought the day couldn't have gotten any worse, he was suddenly blinded by bright lights and deafened by the thunderous roar of carnival music.

"DUROCH, MANSON!" Moriarty bellowed, his face twisted into terrifying anger.

Alerted by his boss's shouts, Moran came bounding down the stairs from where he had been observing from the doorway.

"S'up, Boss?" he asked.

"They've turned the park on! They've turned the bloody lights on! Get those bumbling idiots to turn THE LIGHTS OFF! ARE THEY BLOODY BRAINDEAD?!"

Moran jumped to attention and immediately hurried over to the window that Moriarty was looking out of. He confirmed with his own snarl that those _imbeciles _had indeed lit up the entire park like a Christmas tree.

"I'll deal with them now," Moran muttered lowly.

As he was halfway out the door, Moriarty spoke through gritted teeth.

"If they don't bring me Alessandra Holmes, alive, then I will personally see to their execution," he threatened menacingly. "Make sure you tell them that."

"They will. They aren't as stupid as to – "

The clatter of a bullet suddenly resounded around the park, followed by a blood-curdling shriek, ending with a final shot.

Moran winced animatedly and dared a glance at Jim, both knew full well that that was Alex's scream. Moriarty stood rigidly staring out of the window. He didn't flinch, nor blink. Moran was extremely unnerved by the behaviour.

"Jim?" Seb ventured.

There was a painstaking pause before Moriarty replied, "Bring your knife, Seb. And make sure it's sharp."

Sebastian couldn't keep the sly grin off his face as he lovingly patted the aforementioned knife in his pocket and followed his boss out of the door and into the haze of lights.

"Manson, Duroch, where are you?!" he shouted.

"Seb, go and turn the lights off and be quick about it," Moriarty ordered. "I think I may have found them."

Never one to want to miss a fight, Moran had to physically drag himself away from the scene and scuttle off to carry out his orders.

As one man left, another arrived, panting.

"Mr Moriarty, sir,… it's… huh… it's Duroch. I… think he's shot… the girl," Manson spluttered, gasping for breath and clutching a stitch in his side.

Jim cuffed the younger man on the upside of his head roughly, "Don't you think I realised that?! Now pull yourself together and tell me where the bastard is!"

Manson blanched even more and raised a hand to point behind the Ferris wheel. As if on cue, a low groan resounded from the spot.

Going round the wheel, Moriarty's top lip curled up, baring his teeth as he spotted Duroch laid hunched over on the grass, wheezing. He marched over to the man and hoisted him up by the scruff of his jacket.

"What have you done, Duroch? Where is she?" Moriarty interrogated.

Duroch coughed and choked, "She… sir, she…"

The man trailed off and spat out a mouthful of blood. Moriarty looked on in revulsion.

"There's a mark in the tree here, the girl might have been here when she was shot," Manson pointed out, regaining his breath and trying desperately to get back into Moriarty's good books.

Moriarty threw down Duroch and ran his finger over the hole in the bark. Manson's theory looked good enough. Duroch glared at his 'friend' in betrayal.

"Manson, look in the woods for Alessandra. If she's injured as much as I think, then she won't be able to move very far. Look for any more bullet holes – "

"I didn't," Duroch breathed almost inaudibly. "I… d-didn't."

Moriarty turned to him slowly, "What?"

"I didn't… sh-shoot her… she shot… me," Duroch removed his hand from where it had been hiding his wound. "She sc-sc-screamed."

The cogs began to turn in Moriarty's head. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pieced together the situation. His eyes suddenly lit up.

"Brilliant!" he threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, what a clever girl."

Manson looked thoroughly confused by knew better than to ask for an explanation. He was better at receiving the actual orders than receiving the theory behind them.

"Manson, scour these wood, now. I don't care how long it takes to find her, just bring her back. Aim to injure."

"Yes, sir."

Manson practically fell over his own feet in his haste to please his boss. Once he was gone, Moriarty turned on Duroch like an eagle eyeing a mouse, his smile immediately dropped.

"Now you are going to see me angry, Ethan."

* * *

><p>Alex kept running. One foot in front of the other, pounding the ground in a timed rhythm. She had ran through the throng of trees, her bare feet bleeding and smothered in thick mud. Everything seemed to be going somewhat to plan. She had heard Moriarty's outburst and so knew that he had fallen for her plan or at least was concentrating on interrogating Duroch.<p>

She was now at the north side of the park, completely the opposite of where she had lured Moriarty and his posse. The trees were thicker here, with enormous roots the size of a body splashing up from the ground and burrowing themselves back under again like frozen dolphins. The canopy of trees seemed impenetrable above her. Branches interlocked to form a sturdy ceiling, blocking out what little light the moon gave.

The further she got into the wood, the less light there was, and the larger and more uneven the ground was. Finally, she resorted to feeling her way around on her hands and knees, after tripping several times and reopening cuts, gradually creating new ones.

Alex stopped still. She could hear something. Footsteps. They weren't animal footsteps either, she could also hear a voice.

"Better get back, don't want to miss the show. Oh bloody hell, where are these bloody switches? I swear to God, if I had my time again, I would…"

The lights suddenly went off, making the darkness even heavier.

"There it is."

Alex's heart skipped a beat and began thundering viciously against her ribcage. She knew that voice. She knew it very well.

"Moran," she whispered.

He was only about ten yards away from her. She had the advantage of the trees, but Moran was a professional. She had to be so careful…

Beginning to vigilantly retreat, Alex resisted the urge to gasp as she lost her footing on one of the roots and fell back into a depression in the ground. Nettles stung at her skin as she tumbled and landed face-down in the undergrowth.

Quietly groaning, she pushed herself up onto her elbows and came face-to-face with a set of amber eyes staring back at her. A deer. Alex immediately froze in her actions knowing that if she spooked the deer in front of her, best case scenario was she got clattered with the antlers, worst case scenario; it alerted Moran of her presence.

She didn't dare breathe. She willed her heart to stop thrashing in her chest, paranoid that it was as loud as it was in her ears. Maybe if she slowly backed away…

But it was too late. Her foot snagged on a twig, making a loud snap as the twig broke. The deer's yellow eyes suddenly became wider than dinner plates as it frantically scrabbled to its legs and up the slope. It galloped at full speed, frightening nests of birds and rabbits, sending them all charging Moran's way.

Alex watched with baited breath as Moran watched the ensemble rush past him.

_Please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me, please don't let him find me._

But Moran was much too clever for that. A sinister grin slowly crept onto his face as he licked his lips and reached for the knife in his waistband.

"Allie," he sang. "I know you're in there. What a lovely surprise, my dear."

Alex couldn't help but screw up her face and fight back hopeless tears. Was it too much to ask to go home?! That's all she wanted to do!

Moran's footsteps became louder, twigs snapping under his weight as he entered the treeline.

"Oh go on, run," he taunted. "What does your uncle say…? 'The fun is in the chase, never in the capture'. I happen to enjoy both equally."

At the mention of Sherlock, Alex felt a sudden emotion that was so strong that it nearly bowled her back over as she stood up. Determination… but defeat. She was ninety percent sure that she was dead, but she was going to prove herself to her family. She wasn't going to be found laid in a ditch having surrendered. She was going go down fighting with as many wounds as she could stand before giving in.

Setting her jaw, Alex plucked up the biggest stone that she could find and hurled it as far as she could to the left. It flew a far distance before colliding with the ground, sending up a shower of mud and causing birds to shriek.

Now all that was left was for Moran to be convinced of the diversion.

"You really think that I would fall for that?" Moran laughed, ignoring the birds and walking straight for Alex in the dark.

"No," Alex answered recklessly. She picked up another rock. "But you might fall for this."

She brought the rock behind her head and threw it as hard as she could in Moran's general area. It clipped his shoulder before rolling down his torso and fracturing his hip bone.

He let out a furious yell.

Taking her chance, Alex turned on her heel and sprinted as fast as she could into the thicket. Moran was close behind her, cursing loudly and letting out periodic grunts of pain as they ran. Alex looked over her shoulder and saw with a spike of anxiety that he wasn't showing any signs of lagging.

He was strong.

She was weak.

The trees were beginning to thin out into corn fields as they left the park's border and into what must have been farmer's fields. The barley was up to the top of her hairline, so if she bent low enough, she could be completely concealed. But Moran was a hunter. It was better for the prey to run than to hide.

Alex forced the long strands out of her way, the sharp sides scratching at her face. Her feet were given a temporary relief from the pain as the fields were bogged down with water. It cooled and soothed her skin, but also splashed. Loudly.

She was lighter on her feet than Moran, though, so her advantage came in. She ducked and wriggled through the crops but Moran was catching up and her strength was almost used up.

Finally, her leg wrapped around a rusted animal trough and sent her tumbling to the ground. She immediately climbed back to her feet, but Moran had closed the gap. It was game over.

She heard the knife before she saw it. She heard it slice through the crops like an axe, then she saw it at the last moment as it punctured her skin and embedded itself in her side.

An inferno of agony tore through her body as blood gushed down the side of the knife. Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out.

_No, please no. Not now, not when I'm so close._

Moran's smug, delighted face poked through the curtain of barley.

"This is what happens when children think they can do an adults work. Say hello to your old mum for me."

Fury blotted out the pain.

"You bastard," Alex ground through gritted teeth.

"What are you going to do? Your uncles aren't here now."

Bracing herself for the onslaught of pain that was about to arrive, Alex took a sweaty grip around the hilt of the knife in her body and yanked it out.

"I don't need them for this."

Moran took a step back in alarm.

"I can d-do my own dirty work."

And with that, Alex sent the knife soaring through the air into Moran's throat. His hands grasped his neck, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

"And don't call me 'Allie'."

* * *

><p>Alex didn't know if Moran survived or not. She didn't wait around to find out. All she knew was that she was dying. Or maybe, she didn't <em>know <em>that she was, but she _thought _that she was. At least for the next hour afterwards.

The pain was almost unbearable as the adrenaline wore off. She had taken off William's travelling coat that had been lent to her and had wrapped it in a tight dressing around her torso. That had helped somewhat.

Her experiences with injuries and bodies at the morgue told her that it was only a flesh wound, it hadn't penetrated any vital organs or she would have already bled too much to be conscious. That was a good sign, anyway.

She had somehow found the strength to wobble the rest of the field for what seemed like days, but was only an hour and a half. Though she was injured, her mission had succeeded. April and Logan had managed to get away unharmed. At least she hoped so, she hadn't heard anymore screaming.

All there was left to do was find them and find out where on Earth they were so they could get as far away as humanly possible from this God-forsaken place. No doubt Moriarty had figured out the diversion and had perhaps found Moran by that time.

But they were close. The hardest part was over. Despite the pain, Alex allowed the first genuine smile in what seemed like forever to grace her bloodied lips.

She was one step closer to home.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope it was worth the wait :)<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, EI Cochrane, greysoth4ever, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Quartz Kitkat, Rose Tomlinson, GottaLoveTen, miafarrowinraybans, rycbar15, AnotherDamnMexican149, Crossing the Galaxy 22, jokerharley1980, abi tandy, VioletErin.26, Diversdown, Guest, Fireball221B, 3broomstix, Anonymous, Owl Indigo, Lin Volturi, and FlewandFlied for reviewing!**

**Thank you to each and every one of you! I shall reply to as many as I can today and the rest tomorrow :) I am going to try and reply as soon as I get the review now and see how that goes.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	63. Gone Girl - Part 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex and her story :)**

**Author's Note: Hey all! I hope summer's treating you well!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_All there was left to do was find them and find out where on Earth they were so they could get as far away as humanly possible from it. No doubt Moriarty had figured out the diversion and had perhaps found Moran by that time._

_But they were close. The hardest part was over. Despite the pain, Alex allowed the first genuine smile in what seemed like forever to grace her bloodied lips._

_She was one step closer to home._

April and Logan had followed the plan, even when Alex's scream reached their ears. Though Logan knew that it wasn't a genuine cry, it didn't stop the twang in his chest or the almost overpowering urge to turn on his heel and run back the way they had come.

All had gone silent after that from what they could hear. They had run most of the way until they reached a dusty track lined with hedges, when they began to walk. April's feet were dragging and she had taken to childishly moaning every step they took, much to the annoyance of Logan.

"Logaaannnn?" April dragged out.

Logan stopped in his tracks and mentally counted to ten before turning around to face April and saying calmly, "Yes April?"

"How are we going to meet up with Alex? How will she know where we are?" she asked.

All of her other questions had been stupid, but in this one, she had just voiced what Logan was thinking. How _were_ they going to meet up again? What was stopping her from being laid facedown in a puddle with a bullet in her brain?

"We'll come up with something. Come on, just keep walking," Logan reassured her.

"That's just what grown-ups say when they have no idea what to do but don't want to worry you," April mentioned conversationally, picking at lint on her sleeve.

Deciding that it was time to quickly change the subject before he lost control, Logan steered the conversation to April's recent injury.

"How's your wrist?"

April let out a long-suffering sigh, "It hurts."

Logan glimpsed at the hand from the corner of his eye. It was definitely broken. It was extremely swollen and would have been hanging at a very strange angle had it not been for Logan's – admittedly shabby – splint.

"You'll just have to grin and bear it for a while. We'll… we'll be home soon."

There was a pause as April regarded him closely. It was quite unnerving, meeting someone so young that seemed to be scanning every inch of his mind.

"You don't sound too sure," she murmured.

Logan swallowed and ran a hand through his mucky hair. It was true. Alex had no idea where they were. They had no idea where Alex was. All they had to do was concentrate on keeping themselves alive and hope that the other was doing the same. It was the only way.

"When I get home," April chatted, bouncing back to her normal self. "I'm gonna get a massive bubble bath and eat lots of chocolate."

Logan grinned slightly at that.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm going to have a big Sunday dinner with Yorkshire puddings and gravy."

"Yack," April screwed up her face. "I hate Sunday lunch, it has too many vegetables. I would rather have fruit instead."

"Fruit and gravy?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"It would be disgusting!"

"It would not!"

"Would too!"

"Seriously, no one on Earth would want to eat that."

"They would because I – argh!"

Logan jerked around at April's cry, the light mood immediately shattered. She had fallen back on something and landed on her broken wrist. Logan stooped down onto his knees and pulled her up. Her face was tear stained and her lip wobbled.

"Stay quiet. There's quite a distance between us and them, but if you make loud noises, you could give us away," Logan explained, probing the wrist.

April yelped as he pressed on a particularly tender spot. He muttered an apology and brushed some of the mud from her coat.

"It doesn't seem to have done any more damage to it. What did you trip over anyway?" Logan asked, looking around on the floor.

April bent down and picked up the thing she had tripped over.

"This."

Logan froze as he saw it. April had in her hand, a dark green wellington boot. Mud was caked to the bottom, and it was stained. Red.

"April, put it down."

She frowned and inspected it further until she saw the blood. She hurriedly dropped it and rushed to Logan's side. He put his arm around her, not breaking eye contact with the boot. He was fast coming to conclusions when he saw the foot belonging to the boot protruding from the hedgerow next to them.

Logan had to clap a hand to April's mouth to stop her from screaming.

"Turn around and don't look, okay? Now I'm gonna let go, and you aren't going to make a sound. Got it?"

April nodded, fear abundant in her wide eyes.

Logan slowly removed his hand, letting go fully and walking over to the hedge when he was convinced that she wasn't going to scream. She dutifully turned her back and let out a small sniffle.

Concentrating on the foot, Logan took a deep breath and wrapped his fingers around the ankle, and wrenched. In a medley of snapping branches and breaking bracken, the body of a man tumbled out from the hedge. He looked in his late fifties donned in a farmer's cap and working attire. Definitely a farmer.

His lips were blue but the corpse was relatively fresh, only a couple of days at the most. His skin was deathly pale with a bullet hole in his temple.

"Is… is he d-dead?" she asked shakily.

Logan glanced at her. She was quivering badly and was as pale as the dead farmer in front of him.

"Yes. He is."

She let out a tiny cry and buried her head in her hands.

"Why would they kill him?" April asked through her hands.

"He must've noticed something and came down to look. He just got too close, I reckon," Logan replied, feeling inside the man's jacket. He wasn't even armed; he wouldn't have stood a chance against them.

"Maybe he was meant to die."

Logan frowned and turned to April, "What?"

"Maybe it was fate. He died to that we could live."

_If it makes her feel better, let her believe it, _Logan thought, him himself not stooping to such whimsical nonsense.

"Yeah, of course. The only thing is what could his death bring to us?" Logan asked to keep her occupied whilst he was checking more pockets for anything of use.

"Hmm," she mumbled, looking around in thought. "Here."

Logan watched as she ducked down into the ditch alongside the hedge. She gave a little grunt of effort and pulled something up in her hands.

"You really shouldn't go down there, you could hurt – where did you get that?!"

April resurfaced from the bracken with a smudge of dirt on her face and a bulky black torch in her hand.

"See," she smiled. "He didn't die in vain."

"You are one of the strangest children I have ever met," Logan breathed as he reached out and took the torch from her. "Cup your hands."

She did as she was told. Logan placed the head of the torch in her palms and flicked the switch. Her skin was suddenly alight in the darkness.

"It works, oh yes," Logan punched the air, allowing himself to believe in fate for just a few minutes.

"We could use it to find Alex," April chirped. "... Somehow. Come on, I've done my bit. Grown-ups are supposed to do the thinking."

Logan pondered this for a moment until a sudden idea came to him. He turned to April.

"Got it."

* * *

><p>Alex couldn't believe that it was still night. A cold, bitter November night that seemed to last for an age was definitely not a good time to be lost, alone and bleeding.<p>

The problem now, seeing as she had shook Moran off her tail, was trying to find April and Logan again. She knew that they wouldn't have left without her, though she wished they would have. It would have caused a lot less stress if they could have gone their separate ways until they met up in London. But then again, there was strength in numbers.

Alex's feet were burning as she flopped down onto a rock next to her. From what she could see of her surroundings in the night, she was halfway up a steep field. There were rows and rows of fields leading up to somewhere that she could not see. She knew that she must have walked miles from the park. A safe-ish distance anyway.

Perching her left foot atop her right knee and rubbed it, feeling blisters already beginning to rise. They weren't that bad, however. The water had cooled them down immensely and there were only little scratches on the pads.

Her side had actually gone worryingly numb. The agony of it had slowly ebbed away into nothing and the blood flow had been stemmed by coat tied around it. She had originally thought the source of the numbness had been the coat being too tight, but it later occurred to her that the cold had allowed her one pleasure.

But she was sure the pain would return with the break of day, and she had to do everything in her power to ensure that she was somewhere safe and warm at that time.

Her throat was dry and scratched from lack of drinking. Her headache had also been blotted out by the adrenaline, but dehydration was just another problem to add onto a long list.

It was then, hunched on the rock, that a fine, soft tinkling floated to her. She strained her ears and followed the sound to the left over to the edge of the corn field she was in. The sound grew louder and clearer the further towards it she walked.

It couldn't be… could it?

Alex fell to her knees at the grass verge of the field.

It was.

A thin stream of freshwater ran down the gap between the grass verge and levee at the other side, snug between the two mounds. Alex gave a tiny, deliriously happy laugh and scooped a handful of the water with her good hand. She brought it to her lips and drank greedily for another ten handfuls.

She sat back with her back pressed up against the verge and grinned in satisfaction. Her hand was freezing from the water, but it was completely worth it. She was sat for a few moments to catch her breath, when she noticed something from further up the hill. A sort of flashing.

"What on Earth is that?" she asked herself with a frown.

The flashing was in a sort of rhythm but she didn't know what. It took her the ashamedly long time of five whole minutes to realise that it was Morse code, and another seven minutes to decipher it. She blamed it on the cold.

. - = A

.-.. = L

. = E

-..- = X

"Me?" she asked stupidly.

_No, the Dalai Lama, _her mind sneered.

The light kept flashing repeating the same message. It was either Logan and April, or Moriarty's men. But why would Moriarty forewarn her? Why would he bother with flashing lights when he could just shoot her? It had to be April and Logan. It had to be.

With a groan, she pulled herself up from the ground and stood on her wobbling feet. The light was three fields away up the hill. She could do that. She could.

* * *

><p>Logan swore. Loudly.<p>

"Hey!" April cried in disgust.

He ignored her as he whacked the torch off the palm of his hand to try and get it to work again. The batteries had obviously worn out after all of the flicking on and off it had been doing, and had finally packed in.

"The stupid thing!" he cursed, throwing it to the ground in anger.

"Alex might've already seen it. She might be on her way up now," she said positively.

Logan pursed his lips nonetheless. Why did technology always fail him when he was at his direst of need? It wasn't like it was an unreliable smartphone; it was a thick Wolff torch. You could run over it with a bloody tractor and it would still survive!

"What happens if Moriarty sees the light and comes after us? What happens then?" April asked, scraping muck from her arms.

"We all die," Logan snapped irritably, giving final kick to the torch.

April recoiled at his words and his tone. She hadn't done anything wrong! April bit her lip nervously and came to stand over next to Logan. She was quiet for a moment before speaking.

"Have I… have I done something to upset you?" she asked hesitantly.

Logan looked down at her, still annoyed but forcing his anger under control, "No, you haven't done anything."

"Then why are you being so mean?"

"It doesn't matter, April. Just forget about it, it's nothing you've done."

"Who's done it then? And I can't just forget about it because you –"

"Shh," Logan hissed, suddenly aware of something.

April sighed, "See, you _are_ in a mood with me –"

Logan pressed his hand to April's mouth to quell her flow of words. He could hear something. Breathing. Heavy breathing.

Pushing April close behind him and keeping a tight grip on her jacket, he stepped forward as noiselessly as he could. April had fallen silent as soon as she realised the situation. She clung to Logan like a lifeline, her small heart hammering in her chest.

"Don't make a sound," Logan said barely above a whisper. "Stay here."

He felt April nod against his back and let her go. He walked forward to the sound of the breathing. It had now transpired into rustling and cracking of feet on stone. It seemed to be coming from the hedge. Plucking up all the courage he had, Logan pounced forward into the hedge and wrapped his arms around the noisemaker.

Both the captured and the captor cried out, fists flying in a frenzy of fright. Logan managed to wrap his hand around the man's, only… it didn't feel like a man. A woman. And it felt familiar.

"Alex?" Logan breathed.

But Alex wasn't listening. She struggled to retrieve her hand, flicking out with her feet and knocking Logan off her. She grabbed the first thing she could scramble for and was about to bring it down on Logan's head when he spoke again, louder.

"Alex, it's me! It's me, stop!" he yelled, shielding his face.

Alex froze. The rock that she had acquired was dropped behind her.

"Logan?"

"Yes."

Her eyes began to adjust to the light again so that she could make out the outline of him. She could feel him smiling at her. Unable to take it anymore, she launched herself onto him, his arms coming around her instantly.

"I found you. Oh my God, you're okay," she grinned tearfully, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Are _you_ okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Alex?" April questioned tentatively from behind Logan.

Alex held open her arm – the uninjured side – in invitation. April ran forward and nestled herself between the two of them. Alex rested her chin on April's head, Logan resting on hers. It was exhilarating. The feeling of being safe and loved, the feeling of happiness.

The trio stayed like that, huddled together until the night was over and dawn was beginning to break. The clouds were a bleeding scarlet as the sun shattered the obsidian canvas of night. A truly beautiful sight after the long and perilous hours in the dark.

"We should stay at the farmhouse here for a few hours," Logan said. "The farmer's dead, so we should be okay for a day or so out here."

Alex nodded and rose to her feet, hiding her wound for the present time. April had passed out in Logan's arms, stirring softly as the sun shone on her closed lids.

"Oh and Alex," she turned to Logan. "Happy fifteenth birthday."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Anonymous, Kell-Bells34, rycbar15, Insane-Mad-Hatter07, Guest, jokerharley1980, Diversdown, LinVolturi, Rose Tomlinson, GottaLoveTen, fastreader12, AnotherDamnMexican149, and helenamaimi for reviewing!<strong>

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**To the guest that criticized my updating, I know that I haven't updated for a while, but most of the fanfictions I know sometimes go without being updated for months. I don't think my updating qualifies as 'awful'. I have been very busy lately with school work and I do have three other stories that I try and update as often as possible. I also rewrite a lot of chapters, so that takes time. Hopefully now I will be able to update more since it is summer. I hope you continue to read.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	64. Gone Girl - Part 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Helloo! Sorry for the late-ish update but my niece decided to whack herself with a cup and give herself concussion so my efforts have been on pampering her and watching Disney films on repeat! She's all better now, though :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_The trio stayed like that, huddled together until the night was over and dawn was beginning to break. The clouds were a bleeding scarlet as the sun shattered the obsidian canvas of night. A truly beautiful sight after the long and perilous hours in the dark._

_"We should stay at the farmhouse here for a few hours," Logan said. "The farmer's dead, so we should be okay for a day or so out here."_

_Alex nodded and rose to her feet, hiding her wound for the present time. April was asleep in Logan's arms, stirring softly as the sun shone on her closed lids._

_"Oh and Alex," she turned to Logan. "Happy fifteenth birthday."_

Alex grinned tiredly and briefly rested her head on Logan's in thanks, before turning and heading towards the front door of the farmhouse. The sun showed it to be of a small size, definitely only fit for one. At least they wouldn't have to deal with any of the family of the farmer.

As she moved, the cut on her side pulled painfully, and Logan noticed her wince.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" he asked in concern as he followed her to the door, April still sleeping in his arms.

"It's fine for now, the farmer will probably have a first aid kit or something in the house. I'll just use that and I'll be okay," Alex smiled reassuringly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. Now shut up while I pick the lock," she said.

She picked up a shard of glass from the floor – farmers: the messiest people – and inserted it into the lock. She wiggled it around as usual, but nothing happened. She tried left to right, up to down, diagonal, and nothing. She grunted in frustration and threw down the glass. She was just too tired.

Logan transferred April to one hand and pressed down the handle of the door with his other. It swung open effortlessly. Alex looked at him questioningly.

"It wasn't locked," he answered simply.

Resisting the urge to swear, Alex swallowed her embarrassment and stepped inside. As soon as she was in the threshold, she immediately smelt smoke. She appeared to be in some kind of porch, and a plume of smoke was worming its way under the doorway. She opened the door into the kitchen and ran over to the oven.

"What's happened?" April cried as she was awoken by the commotion.

"Farmer left some meat in the oven!" Alex shouted back, grabbing a teatowel from a table in the middle of the room.

She wafted the smoke and pulled out the tray of lamb, turning off the oven, whilst Logan put April down and opened the windows.

Alex plonked the lamb on the kitchen table and cringed. The smell was disgusting and looking at it with all of the meat and bone and the charred vegetables made her sick to the stomach. She clapped a hand to her mouth and quickly ducked outside, much to the confusion of Logan and April.

By the side of the wall of the porch, Alex threw up. Not that she had anything in her stomach at all. She coughed and spluttered, falling back against the wall in exhaustion. Retching had jarred her wound even more.

Logan came around the door and knelt next to her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked.

Alex looked at him and saw the deep worry in his eyes. She gave a small nod.

"What was it then? The lamb? Don't tell me you're going veggie or Angelo will have to come up with a new special to give us," Logan joked, nudging Alex.

She smiled weakly and allowed him to pull her up. Logan frowned at how easy it was, and for the first time saw Alex in the light. Her arms were so thin, as was her body. Even with the travelling coat wrapped around her waist, you could see her ribs through the thin shirt underneath.

"You really need to eat something," he said anxiously.

The thought of food made Alex want to throw up again.

"I'm not hungry," she brushed off.

It was funny, if she had said that a few days ago, it would have been the biggest lie she had ever told. She had gone that long without food, that she just didn't feel hungry anymore. Thirsty, yes. But not hungry.

"I'm going to get some water, could you get April to a bed or a sofa?" Alex asked as they walked back into the now only marginally smoky room.

"Course," Logan agreed.

As he was about to find one, he turned to Alex and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She smiled in surprise and leaned against him for a moment.

"I'm tired," April moaned, making them jump apart, "And hungry."

"Go find a bed and I'll bring you something to eat, deal?" Logan negotiated.

"Deal," April slurred as she slouched off to fulfil her part of the arrangement.

Alex looked at Logan with a raised eyebrow as she filled a glass from the sink and sipped the water.

"What? She's quite a nice kid," he defended as he picked a banana and some bread from the cupboard.

"You said that you hate little kids," Alex jested with him quietly so April wouldn't hear.

"Yeah, well, she's an exception," he settled on and went off to deliver April's food.

Alex smiled to herself, _yet another thing we have in common. _As she thought of Sherlock, John and Mycroft, her heart gave a longing twang. She missed them terribly. She just wanted to be home where she could just close her eyes and know that she was safe and cared for. She just wanted to go home and never leave 221B again.

Alex let out a gasp of pain as she bumped her side against the countertop. Deciding that she really needed to tend to the wound, she began to hunt for a first aid box. It didn't take her long at all to find one, in the cupboard under the sink with an assortment of pills.

Logan arrived back from settling April down to sleep when Alex was unwrapping the travelling coat she had used to cover her wound.

"What the hell happened?!" he exclaimed, running over to where she was sat on the tiled kitchen floor. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't that bad, earlier. The cold acted as a painkiller," she replied with gritted teeth as she removed the coat and rolled up her shirt.

Logan closed his eyes for a split second as he saw the cut. It wasn't life threatening, but still horrible.

"How did you do it?"

"Moran stabbed me. I stabbed him back, but I don't think he's dead."

Logan looked at her in blank shock for a moment. His eyebrows knitted together.

As Alex went to grab a disinfectant wipe to clean it, Logan broke out of his stupor and stopped her, taking it himself.

"It'll be easier if I do it," he said.

As soon as he made contact with the skin, a bolt of pain shot through Alex, making her whimper. Logan held her hand with his free one as he continued to dab. Once he deemed it clean enough, he took out the largest bandage he could find in the box and wrapped it round her tightly.

Alex sighed in relief as Logan binned the wipe and put away the box.

"You definitely need stitches but there is no way I can do that. I'll probably end up doing more harm than good. John will do it when you get back home."

At the thought of John, Alex felt a lump in her throat again.

"We'll be home soon, won't we?" she asked quietly.

Logan nodded and helped her to a chair in the room next door. When she stood, droplets of blood stained the tiled floor and the white cupboard. It didn't really matter, the farmer was dead anyway. He then came back with the first aid box and bandaged her wrist.

Alex dropped carefully into the chair and sighed again. She had no energy. Logan pulled up the chair opposite her.

"Oh God," Alex suddenly remembered something. "Were you two hurt? Oh, I was so wrapped up in myself, I didn't even ask! Is April okay, she looked okay- what about you!?"

"Calm down, I'm fine. I didn't fall or get hit with anything. I'm a little hungry but I'll get something from the fridge in a minute. April has a broken wrist, _but,_" he quickly added at Alex's stricken look. "She doesn't seem too bothered by it at the moment. She's still feeling the adrenaline, I think."

"I'll wrap it up properly for her once she wakes up," Alex muttered. "You should get some food."

Logan's stomach grumbled as if on cue. He grinned sheepishly and wandered back to the kitchen.

Alex let her head loll back onto the chair and her eyes to close. She felt so tired… the most tired she had ever felt in her life, but she knew she couldn't sleep. Every time she did manage to drift away, images of Moriarty flashed before her eyes and she felt water rise above her neck, chin, mouth, nose, she couldn't breathe, eyes, hair. Black. Just black. Everything was spinning. Everything was black. _Hello, Alessandra._

"LOGAN!" Alex cried, her eyes snapping open.

Logan jogged in, kneeling beside her, "What's wrong?"

"Sorry… just… memories," she panted, wincing at the pain it sent through her.

"You're okay. We'll be home soon, I promise."

"How?" Alex asked, getting herself under control. "How are we going to get home? We need some sort of game plan."

"Well…" Logan frowned in thought. "We need to move tonight. There's no point going during the day or we'll just be found in a second."

Alex agreed.

"What do we go from there, though?" Logan murmured.

"I have no idea," Alex admitted, running a hand over her face.

It was at that moment that Alex felt someone watching her from behind. She slowly craned her neck, mindful of her injury, and saw April hovering by the doorway. Or rather, April's _head_ hanging by the doorway. The rest of her was hidden by the wall.

"Hi, April. What're you doing?" Alex asked with a faint smile.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "So I decided to go exploring."

Alex and Logan exchanged glances. Logan cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Uh, I don't think you should explore anymore, April."

April frowned at him in confusion, "Why not?"

"Well because you might hurt your wrist even more… and there's still a chance that Moriarty might be watching and waiting to get us," Logan rushed out.

April's eyes widened in fright, the opposite of what Alex and Logan wanted.

"Y'know, he probably won't. But it's just better to be safe than sorry, isn't it? You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to us all again," Logan recovered hastily, looking to Alex for help when April didn't look any more reassured.

"He doesn't know we're here, April. So if you go wandering around the buildings, someone might see you. But apart from that, he has no idea that we're here," _yet, _Alex added in her mind.

April nodded uncertainly and still lingered by the door.

"Could I have a look at your wrist, April?" Alex asked to take her mind off what they had just told her.

The girl unhinged herself from the door and fully walked into the room, revealing what a state she was in.

"April! Where've you been! You're filthy!" Alex remarked with shock.

April really was filthy. Her travelling coat was torn and her skin and clothes underneath were coated with soot and filth. Her blonde hair was matted with ash and dirt.

"I told you, I went exploring," April defended, walking over to Alex and holding out her wrist. "Will you have to chop it off?"

Alex and Logan spluttered out a laugh.

"No, no amputations for you today. It does look broken, though. You feel much pain from it?" Alex asked.

"No, not since Logan put the splint on it," she wiggled her arm to emphasize the point.

"Yeah, he's done a great job," Alex praised, smiling fleetingly at him.

"Learnt it from first-aid at that fete we went to a couple of years ago, do you remember?" he asked Alex.

She nodded with a reminiscent smile. That was a good day.

"We'll have to go back someday," she said. "That is, if we get back."

Silence fell over the two as they stared at each other, each wanting the other to jump to their feet with the answer to everything. But, as usual, the answer was in the most unlikely place. Or rather, the most unlikely _person_.

"Why don't we just phone the police?" she asked.

"Moriarty has people in the police, we know that. Calling them will just be telling him where we are."

"Call Sherlock and the other one with the weird name, then. They don't work for Moriarty," April said as if were obvious.

"He'll be watching their phone lines. Now more than ever. William was right, we can't do anything Moriarty will expect. He'll definitely be expecting that."

"We can use the farmer's car," Logan suggested.

"But the farmer's dead," Alex reminded them. "We can't just ask for a lift. And even if we're going to drive ourselves, wouldn't being in a dead man's car attract a little attention?"

"They don't know he's dead or they would've moved the body. They probably assumed that he got scared away by the shot, maybe thinking it was a pigeon shoot or something," Logan countered. "And some of his farmer clothes and cap are in the porch, we passed them. He's only a little larger than me."

April nodded.

"Whoa, slow down here," Alex reeled them back to reality. "There's no way that we can do this. Logan, you can't even drive!"

"I'll be taking lessons in a few months' time."

"But you haven't taken them now. What happens when the police pull us over, hmm? We'll be frozen bait for Moriarty."

"_If _the police pull us over, then we –"

"Wait!" Alex suddenly shouted, holding up her hand.

Logan stopped mid-spiel and he and April looked at Alex curiously as she placed her head in her hands.

"Alex?" April ventured.

"The police."

"What?"

"You said we couldn't," April reminded her.

"That's it," Alex breathed. "The police. Lee!"

"Wait, wait, wait, slow down. What are you talking about? Lee?"

"Lee, Lee. You know, old best friend Lee?" Alex got to her feet in excitement. "He gave me a lift the other day and he was telling me about how he's in the police now. He could be our ticket out of here.. All we need to do is contact Lee and tell him that… oh I don't know… a stash of drugs has been found here. We find the address somewhere in this house and give it to him. We'll say someone gave us his personal number. We tell Lee what's going on once he's inside and he 'arrests' you and carries out two large sacks of drugs," Alex pointed to herself and April. "And puts us all in the car to take us back to Scotland Yard. Once we're in London, we're safe."

Logan sat back in his chair to allow it all to sink in. It was a good minutes or so until he spoke again.

"Okay. So we need to find out the farmer's name, this address, and Lee's number," Logan said slowly.

"I know Lee's number. He gave it to me a few weeks ago. I'll be able to remember it. April, you need to find the farmer's wallet and get his debit or credit card, that'll have his name on," April nodded and hopped off Alex's knee to follow her instructions. Alex turned to Logan. "You need to find out the address of this place."

Alex couldn't help but smile. They really were getting home now.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: EI Cochrane, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Fireball221B, LinVolturi, simplemusings12, Rose Tomlinson, Guest, fastreader12, helenamaimi, GottaLoveTen, fmxc17, rycbar15, jokerharley1980, Owl Indigo, abi tandy, and Crossing the Galaxy 22 for reviewing!<strong>

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**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	65. Gone Girl - Part 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Two updates again, who needs sleep?**

_Previously:_

_"I know Lee's number. He gave it to me a few weeks ago. I'll be able to remember it. April, you need to find the farmer's wallet and get his debit or credit card, that'll have his name on," April nodded and hopped off Alex's knee to follow her instructions. Alex turned to Logan. "You need to find out the address of this place."_

_Alex couldn't help but smile. They really were getting home now._

Once Logan had gone, Alex pressed her hand to her head and cast her mind back. Lee had given her his number the day she had needed him. She remembered him writing it down... 07… something…

"Urgh!" Alex slammed her hand down on the chair arm.

"Alex?"

She turned to see April with something in her hand. Something flat and small.

"Hey, April. Did you get what we needed?"

April nodded and pressed the debit card into Alex's hand. Turning it the right way up, Alex made out that the farmer's name was Nigel Thomas, born 1957.

"Fantastic, April," Alex praised, ruffling the girl's hair. "Now I need you to find a phone. Just the landline will do."

April nodded, glowing under the older girl's praise and tottered off in search of her next item. Alex watched her go before clamping her hand back to her head. She had to remember this, she _had _to. It couldn't just be any police officer, and it couldn't be Lestrade. Moriarty knew of her connections to him and was no doubt tapping his line. It had to be Lee.

"I know what I need," Alex muttered under her breath, heading back towards the kitchen.

She made a beeline for the pantry she had seen and was not disappointed when she found exactly what she was looking for. A brand new bottle of whisky.

She remembered Sherlock drinking it when he ran out of nicotine patches. It wasn't as effective, but still helped him clear his mind.

Alex stood up on her tiptoes and brought the bottle down, unscrewing the cap and pouring a few drops into a glass that stood on the draining board. Three little drops. She put the bottle down in exchange for the glass and threw her head back, savouring the bitter taste.

Almost immediately, the pain from her wound and pounding feet and bruised skin and bleeding cuts drifted away into nothing more than dull aches, causing a smile to curve Alex's lips. Now she could concentrate. She could picture the paper now…

_Ring me anytime._

_07842…_

"Come on, come on, come on," she chanted under her breath, straining her mind.

If only she had tried harder when Sherlock was teaching her. If only she hadn't blundered off thinking that she could actually do things on her own.

She poured another few drops into the glass, just as Logan walked in.

"I've found the – what are you doing?" he stopped suddenly on his way over to her, taking in the sight of the whisky.

"It helps me to concentrate," Alex brushed off, downing another swig. "Remember these numbers: 07842."

Logan muttered the numbers under his breath, watching as Alex delved back into her mind. He knew she was in no way as good as Sherlock, or even as good as _she _used to be, but he had faith that she could remember. When everything rested on it, she'd have to.

"Remember, Alex," he implored.

"Shut up!" she snapped, her eyes opening briefly before screwing shut again in concentration.

There was something in front of her. Something in her mind… a door… no, an archway. Frowning, she reached out towards it, her pale hand clawing at the blankness of her mind. A soft voice floated from the darkness, an oily, snaky voice. It slithered forwards and coiled around her, sending a bolt of ice down her veins.

_Alessandra… come on, Alex,_ the voice taunted. _Look what you're doing. You upset your ickle boyfriend. You know where you belong, Alessandra. You belong with me, James. You belong with me in the dark and the cold with the water. The flood's coming, Alex. The flood's coming and you can't do anything about it. This is only the beginning. You've died once, you'll die again and so will everyone you care about-_

"STOP IT!" Alex fell to the floor, clutching her head like a madwoman. It was laughing. The voice. It was laughing. She could hear it laughing.

Logan rushed to her side, taking her hand.

"What's wrong? Alex? Come on speak to me," he encouraged, worry shining in his eyes.

"He… he's inside my head Logan," Alex whispered, her voice breaking. "He's there… he's telling me things."

"Who is?"

"James."

"James?" Logan's forehead wrinkled. "Do you mean Moriarty?"

"He doesn't like it when I call him that. He says," Alex's eyes glazed over as she began to listen to the voice that only he could hear. "He says… we're on first name basis now."

Logan pursed his lips in anger, gripping her tighter, "Tell him to crawl back to his playhouse."

Alex's eyes were suddenly lit with fiery rage as she brought her hand sharply across Logan's face. Caught off guard, Logan fell sideways into the cupboard next to him, blood running steadily from his lip.

As soon as she realised what she had done, the fire in Alex's eyes extinguished as quickly as it had been lit, and she crawled over to where Logan was watching her in shock.

Her mouth fell open as she saw his blood both on her hand and on Logan's face.

"Oh my God… I'm so… oh Lord… Logan I'm so sorry, please forgive me… I can't," Alex's voice cracked as she reached out, trailing his lip with her finger.

He grasped her hand and held it to his face, "I know… Alex, you can't let him take over you like that. He's not here; it's just your mind playing tricks."

"But it seemed so real," Alex shivered, tears filling her eyes.

Logan cupped her face with his hands, letting go of hers. He stared into her eyes.

"Tell me, Alessandra Holmes, who do you believe: me or him?"

"… You," Alex whispered. She paused before continuing. "Let me take care of that lip."

She stood up shakily and ripped off a piece of kitchen roll from the countertop, running it under the cold tap. Logan had risen with her.

"Sorry if this hurts," she apologised in advance as she began to clean the cut.

She gently dapped at the blood, wiping it from his chin and tenderly ridding it from the split. Once clean, it made a small, dark red bubble. She stared at the crimson staining the lip and swallowed painfully.

Suddenly, the lip she had been staring at pressed against hers. Not fleetingly as they had before, but lingering. She closed her eyes as his hand rested against her cheek. She kept light and gentle, vigilant not to cause Logan any more pain than she had done.

He eventually pulled away, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"07842683016," Alex breathed.

"That wasn't the reaction I was expecting," Logan deadpanned.

"No, Logan, it's Lee's number! That's it!" Alex cried excitedly as April came sprinting in.

"I found a phone, Alex! I found a phone under all the junk! We can go home!" April whooped, mirroring Alex.

"You little genius!"

April was positively radiant after all of the praise she had been given and gave Logan an enormous cheesy grin. He returned it for her benefit, but when he turned back to where Alex was writing down the number on a newly found pad and pen, his smile dropped. Something happened to her. She wasn't Alex… she was him.

But the thing to concentrate on at the moment, though, was getting home. That was what was important. They had to take things one at a time.

He walked forward and leant over the table with the girls.

"The address is Hueberry House Farm, Carlisle," Logan supplied, plucking up a letter from where it was pinned to the fridge and showing them.

Carlisle. They _were _far from home.

* * *

><p>One hour of rehearsing later, they were in the living room, Logan in the middle of April and Alex on the sofa. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.<p>

"Remember the northern accent; you keep forgetting the northern accent. Just think of someone saying Yorkshire tea," April said seriously.

Logan nodded, too nervous to be amused.

Alex handed him the phone, his other hand curled around hers as he took it.

"You remember what to say?" she asked pointlessly.

He nodded and pressed _call_ from where the number was already typed in. Alex pushed down the sick feeling in her throat, knowing that Logan must have been feeling much worse. He angled the phone so that Alex could hear.

_"Hello?"_

Logan coughed, forcing his northern accent out and trying not to vomit, "Hi, my name's Nigel Thomas and I'm err, ringing to inform you of some drugs found on my premises."

_"Why are you ringing my mobile? Who gave this number to you?"_

This question had been vigorously rehearsed.

"Well I went down to the village and enquired there, and they said to pass it on to you, Mr Morris. Something about you getting experience, or something. You must be new."

Alex nodded encouragingly. 'You're doing great,' she mouthed at him.

_"Yeah. Right well, can I have your address, please?"_

"No problem, it's Hueberry House Farm, Carlisle –"

_"Carlisle?!"_

"I realise it's quite a way, but the officer said that you put that you were prepared to travel when you enrolled for the job."

It was a long shot and a complete stab in the dark. All three held their breath until they heard Lee sigh in resignation on the other end of the phone.

_"I know, I did. Right, I'll be up in about… urgh, five hours, that okay?"_

"Yes, yes, that's great- I mean, yeah, that's fine with me," Logan cleared his throat. "I'll watch out for you."

The call ended. A moment of silence passed as they just stared at the home screen of the phone.

"It worked," Logan said incredulously. "It actually worked."

April was the one to start off the giddy laughter before it spread to Alex and finally the deep laughter of Logan.

"I can't believe we just pulled that off! You were amazing," Alex complimented Logan sincerely.

His cheeks gained a faint red hue.

"Are you blushing?" April teased, nipping his cheek softly. "You are, you're blushing. Ooh, Logan's embarrassed. And don't think I didn't see you two getting all smoochie smoochie with each other. I'll be telling Sherlock."

That only increased Logan's redness as he playfully swatted the young girl away.

"Seriously though," Alex said, sobering up. "We need to be ready to go quickly."

"What do you need us to do?" April asked brightly.

"April, I need you to find some of Nigel's clothes. Try and get the smallest that will fit Logan. Don't go outside the house, though."

The girl nodded and turned on her heel up the stairs, presumably to Nigel's bedroom.

"And what are my orders, Miss Holmes?" Logan asked with a quirked grin.

"You need to find two sacks. You'll probably find some around the farmhouse for corn or something. Make sure they're big enough to fit April and me in."

He nodded and rose from the couch.

"And Logan, be careful. Moriarty might be watching this house; you need to be as covert as you can."

He nodded once again and took off.

Walking into the kitchen, Alex drank a glass of much needed water. She leant back against the sink and winced as the painkiller began to wear off.

_It's a good effort, all of this. But it won't be enough, _Alex gasped as the voice sent a sharp pain across her forehead.

"Leave me alone."

_Haha… no. That would be boring, wouldn't it? You shout 'ooh nasty voice, leave me alone' and POOF I'm gone! Life doesn't work that way and you know it. Though, you've experienced it enough, so I don't need to go into detail-_

"Alex?"

Alex spun around sharply at the sound of her name, her body on high alert. It shouldn't have been, for it was only April standing with her arms laden with clothes. Alex let out a breath, cursing herself for her paranoia.

"I got the clothes," she said quietly, peering up at her. "You don't look very well. Shall I get Logan?"

"No!" Alex replied quickly, a little louder than she would have liked. "No. I just got a little dizzy that's all. Come on, show me the clothes you've got then."

April narrowed her eyes suspiciously but dumped the clothes at her feet nonetheless.

"I got a shirt, jumper, trousers, suspenders," Alex snorted in amusement. "And a cap. Is that all I needed to get?"

"Yup, that's everything, April. We have a few hours to kill so do you want to catch up on some sleep or find something else to do…" Alex trailed off.

April twisted her toe on the floor in thought, "I didn't get much sleep last night so I might go to sleep. But could you make me a sandwich first?"

Alex's stomach did a flip at the word, but she forced a smile onto her face.

"Sure. Why don't you get comfortable on the couch? I'll bring your… _sandwich _in."

April nodded and rounded the corner to the living room while Alex turned to the fridge. She summoned up the willpower and pulled open the door. As soon as the smell of food hit her, she immediately retched, running over to the sink. Nothing came out.

Taking a deep breath, Alex walked back and opened the fridge once more, grasping the first thing she could see before slamming the door shut. In her hand was a pack of honey roasted ham and some bread laid on top of the oven. As quickly as she could and with her eyes closed, Alex ripped off some bread and slapped some of the ham on it.

She ran into the living room and dropped in April's lap before running back to the sink and throwing up bile again. She hadn't eaten, or even _seen _food for what seemed like forever. It just made her ill.

Dashing some water on her face, Alex washed the sink out, not wanting Logan to know. The sole priority was getting everyone home in one piece, not worrying about like a mother hen. Alex figured she would get a lot of that when she got home. She smiled slightly. They'd make her better.

_No they won't! _ James sang. _I'll make you better! _

Alex yanked the cold tap on full and splashed her face again, scrubbing furiously. The voice faded away and she turned off the tap.

"Got the sacks," Logan announced as he put them on the kitchen floor. "No-one was around that I could see. I kept hidden anyway."

"Good," Alex replied quietly.

Logan suddenly laughed, "Hey, get this. What do you call a bird with a carrier bag around it's leg?... Russell Crowe!" Logan looked expectantly at Alex but when she didn't respond, he faltered. "Well I thought it was funny. Just there are a load of carrier bags out –"

He was cut off as Alex spun around and hurled a handful of water from the tap at him.

"What was that for?!" he exclaimed, ruffling his soaking hair.

"For your stupid jokes and the fact that you're changing into those clothes on the floor so you can get these ones messy."

Logan quirked an eyebrow at her, "Oh really? Well… that just doesn't seem fair now does it?"

He began to walk slowly towards her and suddenly shook his hair, sending water spraying everywhere.

"Ohh! Logan!" Alex laughed, throwing more water at him.

The water battle continued for another ten minutes until Logan was completely soaked to the skin and Alex was faintly wet. She still had to travel home in her clothes whereas Logan had the joy of playing dress-up as a farmer.

Once the ceasefire had been issued, the two slid down the cupboard door, Alex's head resting on Logan's shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked him.

He nodded against her, resting his head on hers. "So what was all that about? Waiting for a getaway that might get us killed any minute hardly seems the time for a water fight."

"Maybe it's the perfect time for it. If we're going to die soon and all we can do is wait, I want to spend that time being happy. Anyway, it takes both our minds off events."

"Yeah…"

"Logan?" Alex suddenly asked, a thought coming to her. "When were you taken? I mean, what happened between you, Moriarty and April?"

"I was in Cornwall with my family, as you know. Mum and my sisters were arguing as usual so I just went for a walk on the beach. The next thing I know, a cloth's over my face and I woke up in a room with April next to me. Apparently she was on a trip with the care home when the same thing happened to her. She gave one of the people who took her a broken nose," they both smiled at the girl. "We were treated a lot better than you. Given food, water and a bed. We didn't get taunted either, they just kind of ignored us until we were put in with you. You know the rest."

Alex nodded, "I'm glad you were given food and stuff. I'd never forgive myself if either of you two got hurt."

"Same here," Logan murmured, looking at the battered girl in front of him.

He straightened up, pulling Alex with him.

"We need to get ready."

* * *

><p>Five hours later, the sight of a car trailing up the dusty road to the farmhouse was pointed out by Logan, who was on watch and dressed in his farming attire.<p>

"He's here," he said grimly.

Alex turned to the sleeping April and shook her shoulder gently.

"April… come on, wake up."

April groaned sleepily and attempted to bury further back into the sofa.

"No, no, come on. You need to get up, we're…" Alex couldn't keep the light feeling in her chest away. "We're going home."

April looked blearily up, rubbing her eyes, "Home?"

"Yes, but we need you to stay out of sight. Go into the downstairs bathroom until I shout you, okay?"

April nodded and allowed Alex to pull her up and lead her to the room. She sat down on the floor and chewed her little fingernails. She was very much looking forward to the bath she had talked to Logan about.

Once April was out of sight, Alex hid behind the door of the kitchen as Logan donned his cap and welcomed Lee in.

_This is it…_

"Hello, Mr Thomas, I'm Officer Morris," Lee held out his hand as Logan showed him into the kitchen, keeping his cap firmly over his face.

Logan accepted the hand and quickly shut the door. As he turned, he removed the cap.

"So what seems to be the – LOGAN!?" Lee's jaw went slack as he stared at his friend.

"Shh," Logan hissed, shooting a nervous glance out of the window. "You need to be quiet."

"What the hell's going on, Logan?" Lee demanded angrily. "D'you have any idea how long it took me to get here?! I'm swear I'm going to skin you-"

"We're in trouble, Lee. Huge trouble –"

"Wait, wait, wait, who's 'we'?" Lee backtracked.

Alex stepped out from behind the door and Lee's confusion tripled. It increased even more when Alex shouted April and a small girl shuffled into the room.

"Alex? What's happening? What trouble are you in? Why am I here?" he blustered.

"Lee, we need you to get us back to London. You need to 'escort Logan to a police station' and put two parcels into your car," Alex pointed to April and her.

"Why?"

"There's a man that Sherlock's been casing. He's… dangerous, insane, and completely hell-bent on torturing and killing us, me particularly. He kidnapped us and brought us to this place a few miles away. We escaped this far, but we need you to get us back before it's too late," Alex explained.

"Are you sure he wants to hurt you? Maybe you're just overreacting," Lee said, determined not to believe what he had gotten into.

Logan felt a flash of fury, "Overreacting? Have you seen her?" Logan motioned to Alex's bruised, starved and slashed body, lifting up her shirt to show the bloodied bandage around her middle. "Does this look like we're overreacting?"

Alex pulled back her shirt and covered her arms self-consciously, looking up at Lee, "So will you help us?"

Lee's face paled as he gave a small nod.

"Thank you," Alex breathed sincerely, grabbing the two sacks from the kitchen table and helping April into one before climbing into the other.

As Lee went to pick up the sack with Alex in, Logan's hand shot out and got there first. His fist was white around the fabric, glaring at Lee.

"Be careful with April, she has a bad wrist."

Lee nodded and picked up the smaller bag. Logan did the same with Alex, holding her carefully and gently.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Fine. Go on."

He gave a nod to Lee and followed him out to the car, placing the cap back on and ducking his head as he was placed in the middle of the girls. Lee quickly slipped into the driver's seat and revved up the engine, pulling away and heading down the path.

April and Alex wormed their way out of the sacks, slouching down to keep out of sight of the windows.

"You three better make yourselves comfortable, we might make it to London in four hours or less if I put the lights on," Lee spoke over his shoulder as he flicked the blue lights on and pressed his foot down.

Alex entwined her fingers around Logan's, smiling at April.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you: emilybrock101, Deductions-of-Sherlolly, E I Cochrane, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Owl Indigo, jokerharley1980, GottaLoveTen, miafarrowinraybans, Fireball221B, Rose Tomlinson, kie1993, Anon5673, rycbar15 for reviewing!<strong>

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	66. Gone Girl - Part 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Here it is! It took me so long and so many rewrites, but it's here. This was perhaps one of my favourite chapters to write :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_April and Alex wormed their way out of the sacks, slouching down to keep out of sight of the windows._

_"You three better make yourselves comfortable, we might make it to London in four hours or less if I put the lights on," Lee spoke over his shoulder as he flicked the blue lights on and pressed his foot down._

_Alex entwined her fingers around Logan's, smiling at April._

Alex remembered little of what happened in the car journey before the Moment. She knew that she had dozed in and out of consciousness, and could feel Logan's head on her shoulder. If she strained her memory enough, she could vaguely hear his soft snores and April's breathing. Other than that, there was silence in the darkness of night.

Until the Moment.

Lee had barely managed to swerve the car before the bullet broke through the glass of the passenger seat and burrowed into his chest. He was dead before he could utter a cry. The three occupants in the back jerked awake to the sight of Lee's head falling lifelessly onto the dashboard, blood smearing the windscreen.

"Lee!" Alex screamed.

But there was no reply, and the car was speeding towards the wall lining the road.

None of them stood a chance of diverting its course; they could only cling onto each other and brace themselves for the impact.

And the impact came with force. The car smashed into the wall, the bonnet completely disintegrating and the blood stained windscreen exploding in a shower of diamond crumbles. The trio were thrown forward, prisoners of physics, and rebounded off the seats in front. Alex's seatbelt snapped and she slid down onto the floor, dazed.

April screeched as her already broken wrist was bent backwards, tears flooding her face. Logan had fallen sideways, cutting and bruising his back on the cup holder in the back of the car, now a chunk of broken plastic.

Lee had been hurled through the broken windscreen and laid on the darkened road, bloody and ragged with his bare feet splayed out behind him, his shoes some metres away.

"Logan? April? Are you two okay?" Alex breathed, her voice thick with pain from her now freely bleeding side again, and eyes fixed on Lee's corpse. "Lee… oh my God… no."

"My wrist…" April sobbed. "Ow, my wrist. Make it stop! The boy, Lee, he's dead!"

Alex pulled herself out from where she was jammed down between the seats, crying out in pain, dignity to hell. Her leg felt like it was on fire.

"I'm okay," Logan replied, but his forced tone said otherwise. "But they've found us."

Alex peeked over the backseats and saw through the shattered glass of the boot window, three black vans with the main beams pointed at the wreckage, Moriarty stood nonchalantly between them.

"Oh, God. Oh, God we're dead," Alex whispered, clutching the wailing April to her.

"Come on out, kiddies!" Moriarty shouted with a beaming grin. "We have a lot to discuss."

Alex looked at Logan and April desperately, "We have to go."

"I don't want to," April clutched her hand. "I don't want to go, please make it stop, Alex. You always stop it, please!"

Alex's tears spilled down her cheeks, "I can't, April, not this time."

Logan's face was streaked with his own tears, "Come on, we might still have a chance. I don't want to die trapped in the back of a cop car."

Alex nodded firmly; still crying and her lips pressed in a tight line as she kicked open the dented door with her uninjured leg and tumbled out, Logan and April after her.

"I can't do this," April whispered, grabbing Alex's hand. "I'm too scared."

Alex swallowed the fresh sob in her throat and picked April up, balancing her on her hip as they turned to face their demon.

Moriarty was staring at them with pride, "Look at you three. The brave war heroes. Bruised, battered, broken and bloodied."

"Enough with the poetry, Jim," Alex spat, her face venomous.

Moriarty continued to grin as he walked over. Logan firmly grasped Alex's arm – above her wrist – as they both shielded April, who had her face buried in Alex's shoulder. Alex found herself leaning on Logan, unable to put any weight on her leg.

Jim reached out and brushed a bleeding scratch on Alex's chin, "You suit the battle-scarred look."

Alex growled, "What do you want, Jim? Just let us go. There's nothing you can do with us apart from kill us. And what do you gain from that?"

"Satisfaction."

It was Logan's time to speak, "And why would you be satisfied with our deaths? We're just kids. Are you saying that the great James Moriarty feels threatened by a sixteen, fifteen and five year-old?"

Moriarty withdrew his hand from Alex's face and neglected to answer, just smiling insanely. The two stared at each other, communicating something Alex was too out of it to comprehend.

"Just let us go home," Alex sighed wearily. "Please just leave us be. Have a little mercy."

The man put a hand to his chin as he pretended to ponder it, "Hmm… No!" The men in the vans behind took aim, one gun pointed at each of their heads.

"You bastard –" Logan went to lurch forward, only to be pulled back by Alex.

"What if I negotiate with you?" Alex shouted over the top of Logan's profanities. "What if we come up with a deal?"

Moriarty perked up at this, motioning for the guns to be lowered, "Go on."

"What if…" Alex swallowed. "What if you were to let Logan and April go, and you can keep me."

"No!" Logan protested, but was quelled by Moriarty's hand, the latter's smile dropping as he listened.

"You won't be able to hurt them anymore, and you let them go home," Alex continued with a lump in her throat.

"And you, my dear?" he purred, taking another step closer.

"You decide," Alex whispered.

Moriarty's smile slowly came back into place, the one that made Alex shudder. He lifted up two fingers and beckoned for his men to come forward.

"Yes, sir?" one of them asked.

"Take the boy and the little girl," he ordered.

Logan's eyes widened as he turned and squeezed Alex's arm, "No… no… I'm staying with you! Get your hands off me! ALEX! NO!"

The man wrestled with Logan clasping his hands behind his injured back, but Logan didn't feel it.

"ALEX!" he bellowed. "I'M STAYING WITH YOU!"

Alex watched him be restrained with a choked sob as another man stepped forward and grabbed April.

"No! Alex, help me! No, get off me, please!" April howled, clinging on to Alex's shirt with her fingertips.

"You're gonna be fine, you gonna be okay," Alex soothed, but her crying took away the meaning. "Be a good girl, April. You'll be fine."

That didn't stem her screams as she was prised away from Alex and taken to stand next to a struggling Logan.

"What do you want us to do with them, sir?" the man holding April asked.

"Take them to Baker Street. Park at the very end, kick them out and get out if you want to survive the wrath of a Holmes," Moriarty ordered.

The men nodded and dragged off Logan and April into the back of one of the vans.

Alex pressed a hand to her face as the van drove off, tyres screeching. She let out another gut-wrenching sob.

Moriarty's arm wrapped around her as she cried, carrying her back to his van. He climbed in the back with her as she whimpered and the engine started up.

"What are you going to do with me?" she asked shakily.

"I'm going to take you home, of course." Alex gasped. "You showed that you deserve it. Loyalty, it's an admirable trait to have, as long as it's on the right side. We'll work on that later. I just needed to have a little chat with you."

"Can you tell Logan and April that? Please, tell them that," Alex implored desperately.

"What would you give me in return?" Moriarty asked with a suggestive eyebrow raised.

Alex pushed down the sick rising in her throat, "Anything. Just tell them before they do something stupid."

Moriarty nodded approvingly and brought out his phone. His thumbs moved rapidly as he texted his men to fulfil Alex's wishes.

"Done," he said simply as he pocketed his phone. "Now… hmm… what can you do… kiss me on the cheek."

"What?" Alex blustered.

"You heard me. Unless you want to take the _long _way to Baker Street," Moriarty's eyes were dancing.

Trying not to think too much about what she was doing, Alex screwed her eyes shut and did as he wished, brushing her lips against his cheek before withdrawing to the back of the van as quickly as she could.

"See? That wasn't so bad, I could've asked for worse-"

_Yess, I could have asked for soooooo much worse, _he spoke in her mind.

Alex clapped her hands to her head and whined, curled in a ball.

"You can hear me, can't you? I wonder what I'm saying in there. It takes a while to get in someone's head like that… say uh… a week maybe?" Moriarty smirked. "Sowing seeds for months before that. It would drive anyone insane. D'you want it to stop?"

"Yes... yes…" she panted.

_That's it, submit. Bow down before me! Oh, I do love to be dramatic. I should've been a Holmes._

"It's simple, what you have to do. Just say the words 'James, make it stop' and it'll stop," Moriarty explained.

Alex let out another low groan as the pounding in her head intensified.

"Come on, Alex. Be a good girl as you said to little April."

_Little April with her broken wrist bent backwards and scared out of her wits. Big burly Logan wanting to protect his girlfriend, aww isn't that sweet. Isn't that sweet, baby Holmes? Isn't that loooveeellyyy? It would be a shame if they-_

"James… make it stop," she managed to force out.

"Okay," Moriarty responded.

And it was gone. The noise. The confusion. The scrambled thoughts that weren't hers. And that God awful voice. It was gone.

Alex uncurled from her ball and looked at Moriarty in astonishment.

"How did..." she trailed off.

Fishing back in his pocket, he retrieved a mobile phone, but not the one he'd used. He handed it to Alex.

"This phone's yours now. There's a number in the contacts, ring it if it gets too much. You can't get rid of it any other way," Moriarty pressed it into her palm. "I should quite like to speak to you after this. It's sad how you can lose contact with a person."

Alex shoved the phone in her pocket, the pain of the experience still fresh in her mind. She felt woozy. Pain was taking over.

"And Alex…" she managed to look up at him. "In three days' time, at nine o'clock in the night, I want you to meet me at the pool. You know which one. You'll be back to Baker Street within an hour; they won't even know you've gone. I won't hurt you, you have my word."

"Why?" she murmured, her eyes becoming heavier.

"I want to show you something…"

"About what?"

"Your mother."

That was the last thing Alex heard before she felt Moriarty gently touch her head, and she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>It was two hours later when the van holding April and Logan rolled up at the end of Baker Street.<p>

"We're here. You've got five seconds to get out before we take off, got it?" one of the men barked.

Logan shook April, who had cried herself to exhaustion, awake.

"Are we here?" she mumbled, as Logan pulled her up.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice cracking from the shouting.

They just managed to get out the van before it sped off, heeding Moriarty's advice.

"Why _are _we here, Logan? Why Baker Street?"

"This is where Alex lives," he answered, willing the tears away.

April had no such resilience, though, and began to cry again, but silently this time. They had been barrelled out just a few doors down, and were soon stood at the black door of 221B.

Logan reached for the knob and turned it, not surprised in the least when he saw that it wasn't locked. Keeping April's hand in his, they proceeded slowly up the stairs, their injuries slowing them down.

Taking a deep breath, Logan knocked on the door of the flat. How were they going to react when it was just the two of them?

He didn't have time to panic, however as the door swung open to reveal a frantic looking Sherlock Holmes.

"Logan? April?" he looked at them both in shock, the occupants of the room rising behind him.

"She's with him," Logan droned monotonously, answering the unasked question. "Can we come in?"

Sherlock stepped aside and ushered them into the room. Logan looked around with dull eyes to see John, Mycroft, Anthea, Molly, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson all staring at him and April.

"Jesus Christ," Lestrade was the first to speak. "What's he done to you?"

"We were in a car crash," April replied extremely quietly.

John suddenly snapped out of his stare and switched into doctor mode, walking over to the pair.

"Come and sit down, you two," he ordered as Molly and Anthea moved swiftly from the sofa.

They obliged, both too exhausted to refuse. John kneeled in front of them, studying the visible wounds.

"Can I do something?" Molly asked.

"Get my first aid stuff from the bedroom," John muttered as he lifted April's wrist.

She let out a tiny cry.

"Sorry, sweetheart," John apologised gently. "How did you do this?"

"I f-fell when we were running. Alex d-distracted them," she sniffled.

Logan turned away as his eyes once again filled with tears. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Sherlock looking down at him.

"We need to talk."

Logan rose from the sofa and followed the man into the kitchen. They were then joined by Lestrade and Mycroft, the others staying to help John with April.

"Where's Alex? What happened?" Sherlock demanded.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade chastised before turning to Logan and saying softly. "We need you to tell us exactly what happened from the beginning, then John can treat you."

Logan nodded, his face a mask of blankness, "I was taken from my holiday and brought with April to a room. We found out later that it was funhouse in a disused theme park. We were kept there for a few days, given food and stuff. Then we were moved into Alex's room…" Logan paused, gritting his teeth in anger. "She was a mess. Bleeding… starving…"

Sherlock and Mycroft flinched. Lestrade was vibrating with anger but managed to keep his tone professional, "Then what?"

"We escaped… and…" Logan stumbled, having to grab onto the sink to steady himself. Lestrade grabbed hold of his arm. "Lee… Lee's dead… oh my God."

He put a hand to his face, letting out a sob.

Lestrade put an arm around him, "It's alright, mate. Come on, let's get you to John."

However, as he went to move, his legs completely give way. He would have fallen to the floor if Sherlock hadn't stooped forwards and caught him, proceeding to carry him to the sofa next to a bandaged April. The girl jumped at Logan's state and grabbed his hand.

"Logan? What's wrong? Please don't go to sleep, I don't know anyone here. They're scary. Please wake up," she whispered to him.

Molly grasped her good hand gently and led her over to Sherlock's armchair so John could kneel next to Logan. April wept again, Molly wrapping an arm around her and muttering comforting nonsense.

"Logan?" John asked, tapping the boy's face gently.

His eyes opened slightly, "M'tired."

"I know you are. Tell me where you're hurt, then you can sleep, I promise," John spoke in a quiet voice.

"My back," he slurred but grabbed John's hand in a weak grasp before the doctor could move. "Alex… she's coming back… Moriarty's bringing her back."

His eyes shut and he was asleep.

John turned to Sherlock, locking eyes with him. Without a word spoken between them, Sherlock opened the flat door and disappeared down the stairs and out onto the road to wait.

John focussed back on Logan, bandaging and cleaning up the wounds on his back.

"How bad is it?" Mycroft asked, looking at the boy Alex had been friends with since she was small.

John sighed, "His back's pretty badly bruised and has a few scrapes. No bones seem to be broken but it'll be sore. Other than that, he just has the cuts and bruises randomly like April."

Molly stroked April's hair, who was once again sleeping.

"I knew Moriarty was capable of things… but torturing a child…" Molly trailed off.

"She said they'd been in a car crash," Anthea spoke up, once again on her blackberry. "There was a crash that's just been reported on the main road up north."

"Do they know where the car came from?"

"Carlisle."

John finished cleaning the cut on Logan's leg, when he stirred again, roused by the sting. He moaned.

"I know, Logan. One more minute," John reassured him, reminding him very much of his time in the army. The boys he'd treated then were only a little older than Logan.

The sting ebbed away once the bandage was applied, and Logan was about to go back to sleep when John spoke to him.

"One last thing, then you can sleep," John said gently. "How badly is Alex hurt? What will I need?"

"She…" Logan moaned but carried on. "She's got a really bad stab wound on her side and cuts everywhere. Her feet are swollen and she hasn't eaten since she was taken, it makes her sick…"

John swallowed thickly, "Thank you. Go back to sleep, Logan. You're okay, we'll look after you three."

Mycroft ran a hand over his face at Logan's words. He frowned when he saw Anthea smile. She caught him looking at her and elaborated, "Even though she's hurt, she's on the way back, and she's alive. She's gonna be okay."

Mycroft gave a bittersweet smile back, "And it's her birthday."

* * *

><p>Sherlock chewed on the inside of his lip nervously. He was stood in the dark outside without his coat, sweeping his gaze up and down the road, not daring to blink. Alex was coming. She was coming home.<p>

He heard her before he saw her. He heard her quiet sobbing through the stillness and turned to see her stumbling round the corner of Baker Street. She had her arms crossed over her side and was limping.

"Alex," Sherlock breathed.

He began to run. Ten long strides and he was there. His arms enclosed around her as she fell against him, openly weeping, everything hitting her at once.

"You're okay, you're fine. Oh God, you're alive," he buried his face in her hair.

"I've missed you so much, Sherlock," she sobbed. "I'm never leaving home again."

"Don't worry, you're not allowed."

Alex laughed tearfully and burrowed closer to him as he picked her up bridal style and carried her into 221B.

She was home.

She was safe.

She was going to live.

And the best part... she could let go, because she knew now that someone was there to catch her.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Anon5673, rycbar15, Rose Tomlinson, emilybrock101, YUNeLenna, Insane-Mad-Hatter07, simplemusings12, AnotherDamnMexican149, GottaLoveTen, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Lyriel (that would be so awesome!), jokerharley1980, Crossing the Galaxy 22, 19AddieHolmes96 (I'm not saying anything ;)), and FlewandFlied<strong> **for reviewing! Thanks so much!**

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Please review,**

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	67. Home at Last

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Wow, thanks for the support, guys! Here's the chapter you've all been bugging me for ;)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex laughed tearfully and burrowed closer to him as he picked her up bridal style and carried her into 221B._

_She was home._

_She was safe._

_She was going to live._

_She could let go because she knew now that someone was there to catch her._

It had taken John one hour and ten minutes to patch Alex up, the whole time her sleeping. The wound on her side had done terrible damage that would scar badly and needed lots of stitching. The other serious injury was her left leg, twisted and broken from the crash. She had many other injuries, but those were the most severe.

John stepped back and studied her. She had been brought to the privacy of her room with only John there. He placed a hand gently on the side of her face, brushing the steri-strips over her chin.

She groaned, making him jump and clasp her hand.

"John?" she mumbled, blearily looking up at him.

"Hey," he replied softly. "How're you feeling?"

She moaned, "Hurts."

"Where?" he instantly asked.

"Everywhere," she laughed softly.

John smiled back at her, "Shall I let Sherlock and Mycroft in?"

Alex swallowed, struggling to keep her eyes open, "Yes, please. But… could you stay?"

Her voice was timid and mild as John nodded and walked to the door. He opened it and nodded once. He walked back over and stood next to the window, hovering to see if he was needed. He wasn't afraid to chastise the Holmes brothers if they stressed her out. Alex was his patient.

Mycroft was the first in, closely followed by Sherlock. They sat on each side of her bed.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" Mycroft asked, repeating John's question.

"All the better for being home," Alex smiled tiredly.

He held her hand loosely in his grip.

"Well, you won't be leaving for a while," Sherlock said with a small smile.

"I know, I –" Alex suddenly gasped, struggling to sit up. "Logan? April? Where are they? Oh God, I forgot! Are they here?! Are they –"

"Whoa, whoa," Sherlock tried to get her to lie back down. "Slow down –"

"Where are they?!" Alex demanded, before clapping a hand to her side with a cry.

John stepped forwards, his tone authoritative, "They're fine. They're both in the room next door. Anthea's going to take them both home in a few minutes. I need you to lie back down before you hurt yourself."

Alex ignored him, struggling to rid herself of the duvet over her, "April's wrist, she was crying. Logan! I need to see them!"

"They're fine, Alex, lie back –"

"Moriarty," her breaths were harder to take. "Did he hurt them… no… he… he… was… with me… Oh… Lee… they killed Lee! Oh, no… Oh, man… He was… Lee…"

"Sherlock, Mycroft, you need to leave before she hurts herself," John muttered to them.

They exchanged glances but knew better than to argue with the army doctor. They reluctantly left.

"Lee," Alex sobbed. "You have to find him, he's on the road… oh, we left him on the road. John!"

John wrapped his arms around her shoulders, lightly restraining her.

"They've found him, I'm sure. Someone reported the crash so he'll be in hospital."

Alex shook her head, tears flowing down her face, "He's dead. He used to be one of my best friends! Everyone leaves, one by one, everyone."

"I'm not going to. Neither's Sherlock or Mycroft, or anyone else," John promised her gently. "You need to lie down and calm down. Take a deep breath and just lie down."

She did as she was told, allowing John to force her down onto the mattress. She took a few more breaths, finally seeing clearly through her confusion.

"You're okay now. I'm just going to have a look at your side."

He lifted up her pyjama shirt – she'd been changed by Molly while she'd been sleeping – and inspected the bandage. He prodded a little around the edge, Alex hissing in pain.

"You've pulled it a little, but it seems to be okay," John smiled, taking Sherlock's seat. "Do you want them back in?"

Alex shook her head, "I-I can't..."

"If you want me to leave-"

"No!... No, I don't want to be alone either."

John nodded understandingly.

"Alex…" he began hesitantly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"He hurt me, that's all there is," Alex's tone was cold and she turned her head away.

"It helps, you know. Logan told us what he knows. There's just a question mark over what happened to you inbetween."

"I… I don't want to talk… not yet."

Her eyes were so heavy, her mind begging for peace.

"I understand. Go to sleep, Alex. I'll stay for an hour until someone takes over. Someone's going to be next to you all night, and will be there when you wake up."

She was already asleep.

The hour passed quickly, mostly filled with making sure Alex was still breathing, the fact that she was back, still sinking in.

John stood, stretched and swapped with Mycroft.

"She's sleeping. If she wakes up, shout me," John told him as they met in the doorway.

"Of course."

"And... she's a little confused, don't ask her questions about what happened, she doesn't want to talk."

Mycroft nodded and sat next to his niece's bed in her desk chair.

John returned to living room and collapsed into the sofa. Anthea had just taken April and Logan back.

"How is she?" Lestrade asked nervously.

John sighed, "I'm not going to sugar-coat it, she's not good. She has a serious wound on her side that I'm still pretty worried about. A day longer untreated and she'd have been in real trouble with the blood loss. But I'm mostly worried about her size."

Sherlock frowned from where he was stood next to the door, "What do you mean?"

"Did you not notice when you carried her in?"

"I suppose she was a little lighter than before…"

"It's more than that. When I was treating her side, I could count all of her ribs. She's always been slim but she's gaunt now," John's face was troubled.

"That Logan kid said eating made her sick."

John turned to Sherlock, "I know what you said but she should really be admitted to a hospital."

"No," Sherlock immediately dismissed. "It's too dangerous. She's not leaving this house."

"I thought you might say that."

Mycroft watched the rise and fall of Alex's chest, almost mesmerized. She was in front of him, breathing, physical, alive. The bruises and thin bloody scratches stood out against her pale skin, but she was there, nonetheless. And she would be, in time, back to her normal self… but that didn't settle the thoughts swirling in Mycroft's head. The dread.

He had known since he had gotten that call from his brother at the pool. He had known on his way over there in one of his cars, his stomach churning. And he had known for sure when he saw her state that she wasn't safe under Sherlock's care.

It was his job as her guardian to make sure she was safe… and whilst she was at Baker Street, she wasn't. He just hoped she wouldn't put up too much of a fight. Her _and_ his brother.

"Mycroft," the deep voice of his brother echoed from the landing.

"Sherlock," he nodded and rose from his seat, walking over to him.

Sherlock caught him as he went past, "I know what you're thinking. She's not going anywhere."

"That isn't your decision," Mycroft replied coldly.

"Alex is happy here. She sees this flat as her home; she'll never forgive you if you take it away."

"We'll see."

Sherlock growled lowly in the back of his throat as Mycroft left. That man was insufferable at the best of times, but now… _now _he was just begging to be murdered.

"Sherlock?" a little voice broke him from his thoughts.

He looked over to the bed and saw Alex sat with her back propped up on pillows, her eyes barely open.

"Hello. Nice sleep?" he asked as he sat on the chair.

Alex nodded, wincing as the movement sent a bolt of pain through her, "I feel better than earlier. Was that Mycroft I saw going out?"

"Unfortunately."

Alex frowned, "What's happened between you two, now?"

Sherlock debated telling her or not. If he did, she would be able to tell Mycroft herself that she didn't want to leave before he began making arrangements. But that would only stress her out, something that she really didn't need at the present time.

"Nothing. He's just being an arrogant sod," Sherlock said, not really lying.

Alex snorted softly, "How's that different from usual?"

"Well said, dear niece, well said... are you going back to sleep?"

Her eyes had closed but she wasn't unconscious yet.

"No. I'm too tired to sleep."

"Y'know that isn't –"

"Yes, I know Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled and gently ruffled her already messy hair.

"Mm… maybe I am a little tired now… I'm just going to close my eyes…"

Once again, she was asleep within seconds.

Sherlock's smirk faded as he held her hand again. Her skin was so soft and delicate inside his. So small. He remembered clearly holding this hand when it was much smaller, and much less scarred.

_"I'm not going," the four year old Alex proclaimed stubbornly._

_"Yes, you are. It's the law apparently," Sherlock replied as he stood in the doorway of his old flat. "You said that you'd go in on the afternoon, it's half past one now."_

_Alex sighed and sat down on the sofa again, "Can't you ring Mum and tell her I'm ill?"_

_"No. She'd flay me alive."_

_Grumbling, Alex tucked her legs onto the sofa and pulled the blanket back over herself._

_"No, no, no," Sherlock immediately whipped the blanket off. "Get up."_

_"I don't want to go to school! You, Uncle Mycroft and Mum can teach me! School's full of… of… Mormons."_

_Sherlock turned his laugh into a cough, "It's _morons _not Mormons."_

_"See!" Alex exclaimed enthusiastically. "You teach me anyway!"_

_Sherlock sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "How about… we go for ice cream on the way there."_

_Alex seemed to consider it, "And we get to watch a Disney film tonight."_

_Resisting the urge to shudder, Sherlock reluctantly agreed._

_"_And_," Alex drew out. "When you pick me up, we go to the park and feed the ducks."_

_"Fine."_

_"And Logan can come round on Saturday?"_

_"Okay, but no more conditions," Sherlock warned._

_"But –"_

_"No!"_

_"Alright... can we go for the ice cream now then?" her tone was less demanding now, meeker._

_Sherlock nodded, "Come and get your shoes on."_

_Alex huffed as she left her haven of the sofa and slipped her feet into the tiny patent leather school shoes and tightened the bar of Velcro across it. She slipped her hand into Sherlock's as he grabbed her backpack and closed the door behind them._

_The ice cream parlour was five minutes' walk away, and Alex ordered her usual double chocolate with a flake. Sherlock ordered a coffee._

_"That's boring," Alex commented as they sat down in one of the booths._

_"What is?"_

_"Coffee. You know you're old when you go to an ice cream shop and buy coffee. Why do you even like coffee? Where did it come from? Who invented it? How do you like _your _coffee?"_

_"Nice diversion tactic, Alessandra," Sherlock smirked. "Now tell me why you don't want to go to school. You were looking forward to it last week."_

_Alex squirmed uncomfortably, "I just… changed my mind."_

_"People don't change their minds for no reason… is it because your mum isn't here?"_

_Tears pricked at Alex's eyes as she nodded her head._

_"Don't cry, Alex. Your mum's just very busy. She was devastated when she couldn't take you this morning," Sherlock explained._

_"But it's my first day," Alex sobbed quietly. "All the other mums will be there. And most of the dads as well. I have neither."_

_"You have me there," Sherlock reasoned._

_"Yeah, but you're not my dad."_

_Sherlock felt as if he had just been slapped. He didn't think he had ever been hurt by Alex as much as that… or anyone for that matter._

_Seeing his face, Alex amended her statement, "I didn't mean that… I just meant… Well, I spend the most time with you so I guess you're kind of both. My Mad."_

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow distastefully, "Mad?"_

_"Yeah, a cross between Mum and Dad," Alex grinned proudly._

_"There has to be a better alternative to that."_

_"It's Mad or Dum old man, make your choice."_

_Sherlock grumbled under his breath, "Fine, Mad suits me better… You ready to go to school with your Mad then?"_

_Alex nodded eagerly and grasped his hand as they left the shop and rounded the corner to the school. The other parents were already there, kissing and hugging their children with tears streaming down faces on both ends. Sherlock turned to Alex as they got to the gate and knelt down to her level._

_"Now, any of these morons say anything mean or push you around, you ring me okay?"_

_Alex nodded, looking thoughtful, "Can I punch them?"_

_"Only in self-defence… or revenge… Just don't tell your mother I told you that," Sherlock shuddered at the thought of what Maybelline would do to him._

_The bell rang and the children were reluctantly torn away from their parents as they were marched into school._

_Alex looked back at Sherlock and wrapped her arms around his neck, "Bye, Mad. I'll see you tonight. I'm thinking Aladdin, get some popcorn."_

_She took her bag from him and skipped through the gates, the teachers that were prising other children away, watching her in surprise._

_Sherlock watched her go, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. He watched as her knee-high socks and pleated skirt disappeared around the corner of the building, her plaits bouncing behind her._

_"It's hard letting them go isn't it?" a tearful mother said to him, choked up._

_"They'll be fine. It isn't the Australian Outback," Sherlock brushed off._

_Though, for the small lump in his throat, it may as well have been. Not that he would admit that to anyone, not even himself._

_Sherlock was the first there at home-time and stood impatiently as all of the other parents arrived at three o'clock._

_Then the stream of children rolled out of the doors, age ranging from four to eleven. Despite his height, Sherlock had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the children, and to pick out his niece. Alex was small even for her age, never mind someone nine years older than her._

_As the stream stopped and Sherlock still hadn't found her, panic began to rise in his throat. He was just about to ring his sister when a familiar, tiny four year old came sprinting round the corner of the corner of the building she had disappeared round that morning._

_Her cardigan was hanging off and was still stuffing items into her bag as she ran. Her plaits had dropped out and her sea of black curly hair was billowing behind her. She crashed into Sherlock, wrapping her arms around his neck when he picked her up._

_"Where've you been?" he asked her accusingly._

_"Sorry, I was packing up and lost track of time."_

_He put her down and she grabbed hold of his hand again._

_"Park, then?" she asked cheekily, and pulled on his arm to the road crossing._

_Sherlock grinned._

Now, squeezing her bandaged hand, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to grin. It almost wasn't possible that the happy-go-lucky four year old with the grey tights and the plaits had turned into a tortured, scarred teenager.

And now, if Mycroft took her away, Sherlock wasn't sure what he'd do with himself. He had always been with her, even before his sister died. He had been the brother who looked after her the most. She was as much a part of his life as a daughter would be, what would he do if she was suddenly gone?

Gritting his teeth, Sherlock took out his mobile with his free hand and texted Mycroft.

**She's staying here - SH**

He heard the chime of his brother's phone in the room next door.

**I need to do what's best for her - MH**

**I'm glad we agree - SH**

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: E I Cochrane, simplemusings12, kie1993, emilybrock101, Lin Volturi, miafarrowinraybans, izzysheppard, FlewandFlied, KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar, Diversdown, rycbar15, Lyriel, 19AddieHolmes96, GottaLoveTen, Crossing the Galaxy 22, and fastreader12 for reviewing!<strong>

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	68. Mind Games

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello :) I've been doing well with updating recently so I've come up with a new strategy to update this story every three days and not before so I can maybe get ahead with chapters. I hope that's okay :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Gritting his teeth, Sherlock took out his mobile with his free hand and texted Mycroft._

**_She's staying here - SH_**

_He heard the chime of his brother's phone in the room next door._

**_I need to do what's best for her - MH_**

**_I'm glad we agree - SH_**

Alex awoke at lunchtime the next day. She stretched out; smiling softly to herself as her muscles were spared from the stabbing pain they had experienced every other day. She looked to the desk chair and saw John sleeping with his fist propping up his head on the desk.

Pulling back the covers, Alex swung her legs around, for the first time noticing the cast encasing her leg. A pair of crutches leant against her bedside table. She slotted her hands into the handles and pulled herself up, careful not to wake John. It turned out her wrist wasn't broken, and with a support cast, she could still use the crutches.

They were hard to get used to for the first few steps, but she soon got the hang of them and was about to go to the kitchen when she heard hushed voices. Frowning, she pressed her ear against the kitchen door.

"I'm telling you, there's no way she's going with you," one voice, that she recognised as Sherlock's hissed.

"It isn't your decision-"

"No, it's Alex's and you know what she's going to say."

Alex pushed harder against the door once she heard her name.

"You're wrong; it isn't Alex's decision either. I'm her legal guardian so I hold authority over her," Mycroft countered superiorly.

"She's not some possession, Mycroft. And she's _not _going to live with you. She stays here, you interfering imbecile."

Alex stepped back away from the door. Go with…? But… she couldn't. No, no way. Baker Street was her home.

Another, much stronger wave of dread crashed over her. Moriarty. There's no way she would be able to get out of Mycroft's. She would never be allowed out of those four walls. She had to go to Moriarty. He knew something about her mother. She couldn't just ignore it, he knew something important.

_Yes, Alex. Yes I do. So you stay here, okay? You be a good girl and stay put until you come to me. You don't want the sheltered life. You don't want to be cut off from everything that makes you who you are._

"Be quiet…" Alex whispered calmly. "Just wait… let me listen."

_Don't leave me waiting long. _

She raised her hand and let her knuckles rap on the door. The bickering immediately ceased as the door opened.

"Alex," Sherlock stated in surprise.

"Hi," she gave a fake smile and moved past him to the sink.

Mycroft stepped back to let her past, "Managing with your crutches?"

"Yes," she replied stiffly.

Her uncles exchanged glances as she filled a beaker with water and proceeded to the living room, sitting on the sofa. She took a sip and stared directly in front of her.

"I'm not going with you, Mycroft," she said casually as she sipped her drink.

"You have to, Alex," he sighed.

_No, you don't. Come on, Alex, you're your own person. Give 'em what they deserve. Just laugh, go on, throw your head back and laugh! _

To both men's bewilderment, Alex began to laugh. It wasn't her usual laugh, though, it was higher and more insane.

"You think…" she stopped as she let out another bark of laughter. "You think you can just tell me what to do and I'll do it? "

Alex had no idea what she was saying. Her mouth was just moving, her mind focussing on Moriarty. Nothing else mattered, everything… everything was just _so funny. _Why was everyone so sad when life was so fantastic?!

"Why the solemn faces?" she asked incredulously. "Come on, see how _fun _it is when you just let go."

Sherlock approached her hesitantly, "Alex… what're you doing? What're you saying?"

"Just havin' a good time," she said with a sloppy grin.

"I think you should go back to sleep, Alex," Mycroft said uncertainly, completely confused.

Alex pondered the thought… hmm… sleep.

_Yes, go to sleep. Come and see me. Sleep and we'll get to talk face to face._

"You can do anything when you're asleep. Like _do anything. _Like, fly. Or swim through grass, or something."

Sherlock nodded slowly, "Yes, you get to do all of that. You have to go to sleep, first. Go on, just go to sleep."

Alex nodded along with him, "Yeah… sleep..."

She put her head down on the cushion of the sofa and closed her eyes, immediately drifting off.

As soon as she had, John came from her bedroom, relief showing on his face as he saw her sleeping on the couch.

"John," Mycroft began, causing the man to turn and look at the brothers. "Have you given any drugs to Alex that might have… well…"

"Caused her to go completely insane?" Sherlock finished off bluntly.

John looked stumped, "Wh-what? No, of course not. She's probably just exhausted still. She'll be right as rain after a few days."

_"Aleeeex," a voice sang from the darkness. _

_Her mental self grinned at the voice. She was laid on something cold and tiled but not uncomfortable. She sat up, breathing in the smell of… chlorine. She was at a poolside._

_"James? James, are you there?" she called out, amusement clear in her voice._

_"I'm here… I'm… rightbehindyou," he rushed out as he grabbed her from behind and began to tickle her mercilessly._

_Her wounds were gone and pain-free as she threw her head back and laughed. She slapped his arm playfully and turned to face him as they sat by the pool, their feet dangling in the cool water. _

_"So… what's going on in the real world?" James asked, running a hand through the water._

_Alex sighed, "They think I'm insane… is that true? Am I insane, James?"_

_He looked regretful as he nodded his head, "For the time being. It won't be for very long, though."_

_She smiled and leaned against his arm, "Mycroft wants me to live with him and Sherlock wants me to live with _him."

_James stiffened, "What do you want?"_

_"I want to stay with you. I want to be here forever," Alex laid back on the tiles, the water sliding up to her knee._

_"You have been."_

_Alex frowned at him, "What?"_

_She felt his hand grip hers tightly, and her mind went blank, like his skin held a strong anaesthetic. Her limbs relaxed yet she still found the energy to stay sat up and staring at him. Something was screaming inside her, but her mouth was clamped shut. She just… couldn't… look… away._

_"You've been here with me since you were a baby," he shifted and stared into her eyes intensely. "You've always been here, Alex. And you've always loved me more than your uncles. I looked after you, _I did."

_"Of… of course you did," Alex replied distantly, mesmerized by his eyes – were they always so grey? "Why would I think otherwise?"_

_James smiled gently, cupping the side of her face, "It's your uncles. They've fed you lie after lie. About your mother, about yourself, and about me. I'm the one you really care about, aren't I? Aren't I?"_

_"Yes, you know you are…" everything was so light as if she were floating. _

_Smiling loftily and floating away. But the screaming was still there, a wisp among the clouds._

_It was then that she realised what she was wearing. A little red cardigan hung on her shoulders with a green emblem on, a green polo shirt underneath. On her bottom half was a grey pleated skirt and knee high socks with the Velcro shoes. _

_Delicate hands touched her hair and Alex felt it be pulled back into a ponytail… but James was looking at her… he was there… so who was doing her hair?_

_Alex turned slowly, causing the person to let go of her hair and smile tenderly._

_"Hello, sweetheart."_

_The airy feeling disappeared, the numbness turning to static as everything became real._

_"Mum…" Alex whispered, tears filling her eyes. "It's you…"_

_Maybelline wrapped her slender fingers around Alex's hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, "You're going to be okay, baby."_

_Alex shifted her gaze to James, "Mum… why isn't James speaking… why isn't he moving."_

_Maybelline turned her face away, "Sweetheart, James isn't there. James isn't real. Just concentrate on me."_

_A tear fell from Alex's eye as she moved into her mother's arms, burrowing her face in her neck. _

_"I'm not dreaming, am I?" Alex whispered._

_"No, sweetheart. This is your mind. Like Uncle Sherlock's mind palace but a bit different. You don't store details like him, you store people, like I used to. You have since you were a toddler."_

_"Are you real, Mum?" Alex choked out, more tears falling. "You feel real."_

_"No," she said quietly. "I'm just your imagination. But sweetheart, you need to get James out of here. Go to the pool. Meet him. He won't hurt you. You need to know. He needs to tell you why."_

_"Tell me what? Mum, tell me what?" _

_Maybelline didn't answer, she just looked her daughter over with a reminiscent smile, "I'm sorry I wasn't there, Alex. Sherlock did a good job. He didn't burn your cardigan when he was ironing it, that's a first."_

_Alex frowned but remembered her attire. She looked back down at herself and noticed how small she was. She reached up and touched her face. It wasn't as long as before, more round and pudgy. She ran her tongue over her teeth and found them small and smooth. Baby teeth._

_"It's my first day of school, isn't it?" _

_Maybelline nodded, "What do you remember? Do you remember the people? Focus on one of your teachers."_

_Alex screwed her eyes closed and tried to picture one, "I… there was Mrs Paley. She gave me a book to read over the weekend."_

_"Open your eyes, sweetheart," Maybelline ordered softly._

_Alex obliged and gasped. Stood behind her mother was Mrs Paley in her flowery summer dress. Her glasses were perched crookedly on her elderly face and she had the adoring, watery smile that Alex had always liked as a child. In her hand was the book The Gruffalo._

_"Mrs Paley?" Alex whispered._

_The woman gave her a smile before she began to fade, her flowery dress greying and becoming transparent as if she were a photo not fully developed._

_"Mrs Paley!" Alex yelled, trying to call the woman back._

_"Don't, Alex," her mother chided. "She isn't real. I was just showing you what your mind can do. What I used to be able to do."_

_"But… she's lonely," Alex said lamely. "I can feel… she…"_

_"Humans are lonely creatures, Alex. As soon as the door shuts, when we're alone, that's humanity. That's why you built this," her mother tapped Alex's head. "You didn't want to be lonely anymore."_

_Alex leaned back against her mother, closing her eyes._

_"I miss you every day," Alex said, her voice strong. "I love you, Mum. I can find you in here, can't I? I can find you again?"_

_Maybelline rose from the floor, Alex rising with her, now her fifteen year old self, not a child. She avoided her question._

_"You need to be strong, Alex. It isn't just him you're fighting. It's his entire network. It's his empire. You need to be prepared to lose friends, family and even strangers, but it still hurts."_

_"I know," Alex murmured, thinking of Lee. _

_Maybelline smiled sadly, putting a hand to her cheek, "Look at you, my big girl. All grown up. I'll always be waiting for you, Alex. I'll always help you, but you know you can't come to me for advice on things you don't know. You know that, don't you?"_

_"But I just have. You've told me what to do –"_

_"No, Alex. You told _yourself _what to do. I'm not your real mother. The real May is buried in St Mary's churchyard. I'm just what you wish me to be like inside your mind. I'm just you painted to look like Maybelline Holmes. Everything I've told you is what you already knew yourself," 'Maybelline' spoke with ferocity._

_Alex looked sideways to Moriarty, still unmoving. _

_"So that isn't really James? Then I can just get rid of it, it's my mind!" Alex exclaimed._

_"Do you really think you can cast him out of your mind? D'you really think you can turn a blind eye to him before you find out what he can tell you?" her mother asked knowingly._

_Alex's shoulders slumped in defeat._

_"I have to listen to what he has to say before I can move on, is that the gist?" Alex grumbled._

_Maybelline chuckled softly and pulled her daughter in for another hug. Alex relaxed in her arms, breathing in her scent. _

_"You might not be real, Mum, but this is just as good," Alex grinned, pulling away._

_Maybelline looked at her curiously._

_"I have a job to do. Thanks Mum… or me, or whoever you are. Just one thing, how on Earth am I meant to get past Sherlock?" _

_Maybelline laughed loudly, ruffling her daughter's hair. _

_"You haven't figured that out yet."_

_Alex smiled and ducked her head._

_"Of course I haven't. I'll see you soon, I promise."_

_Maybelline pressed her lips to Alex's cheek, "I sincerely hope you don't. I love you Alessandra."_

Alex shot bolt right up. The living room was dark. The curtains had been drawn and the lamp in the kitchen was the only source of light. It emitted a dim glow enough to allow Alex to discern the figure of Sherlock sat in his chair.

"You're awake," he noted without moving from his position with his fingers steepled under his chin. "Feeling any more sane?"

"Uh, yeah… a bit," Alex replied unsurely, clambering to her feet with the crutches. "Sorry about that. I'm going to my bedroom."

"Do you need more painkillers? I could wake John if –"

"No, no. Don't disturb his sleep. I'm gonna watch a DVD or something in my room. I'll see you in the morning, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, Alex."

She nodded and gave an awkward smile, going to her room and closing the door.

_Ah, great, now we're alone! We can properly chat now. It was very rude of your mother to do that. She always did interrupt._

"Oh, piss off," Alex snarled, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor. They were the clothes she had worn when she had returned. They were slashed and blood stained, especially the shirt. She rummaged through the trouser pockets and pulled out the mobile phone Moriarty had given her.

She tapped on the contacts and scowled at the only name there, _James :)._

She pressed call and brought the phone to her ear. It rang once before it was answered.

_"Hello, Alex! I didn't expect to hear from you so soon!" _

"Keep your voice down," Alex hissed. "Things have changed. I'm meeting you tonight at the pool."

_"But how're you going to get past Daddy Holmes? Need any help?" _

"I can handle him, Moriarty –" Alex suddenly gasped in pain, holding her head.

_I TOLD YOU TO CALL ME JAMES! _

_"Alex? You still there?"_

"You know full well I am," she spoke through her gritted teeth. "Be there in an hour."

She ended the call before he could answer, throwing the phone on her bed. She looked down at her pyjamas and twitched her mouth to the side. She couldn't meet _James _in her jammies, that was a definite no.

Peeling off her clothes from her side and leg was difficult and painful but she was soon changed into some loose clothing and a hoodie. Running a brush through her hair, Alex stepped back and looked in the mirror for the first time since she was taken.

She looked dead. Her face was so gaunt and sallow… so troubled. She had never been so pale and bony before and her eyes without their usual glint. Her hair hung down on her shoulders lankly.

She looked at the clock. It was 11:32pm. Time to go.

Moving less than gracefully to the window, she slid it upwards and slipped out, favouring her left leg. Once she was on top of the shed below the window, she brought her crutches out with her and hopped down on to the wall and finally to the back alley.

Once she had regained her balance, Alex flicked up her hood and proceeded down the street, grateful for the protection the mist and drizzle provided from the cameras.

When she came back in the morning, she would have answers. Answers to who she was. Maybe even the question mark over her mother's death would be cleared.

When she came back in the morning, she would be a different person, for better or for worse.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Rose Tomlinson, guest, Lyriel, ShatteredBlue221, go get it, Owl Indigo, , Fireball221B, 3broomstix, emilybrock101, miafarrowinraybans, rycbar15, and Crossing-the-Galaxy 22 for reviewing!<strong>

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**To go get it because it won't let me pm you: Thank you so much for the review! I will definitely follow your advice, thank you so much for your kind and helpful words. Any grammar and plotting is due to the feedback on this site, my first chapter was horrendous so it is really all down to people helping me to improve, which is why I love this site so much. HUGE thank you again and I will certainly never forget your review! Have a brilliant day.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	69. Revelations

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Here is the next chapter! This went through so many rewrites so I hope it's okay! I'm really nervous about posting this chapter.**

_Previously:_

_Once she had regained her balance, Alex flicked up her hood and proceeded down the street, grateful for the protection the mist and drizzle provided from the cameras. _

_When she came back in the morning, she would have answers. Answers to who she was. Maybe even the question mark over her mother's death would be cleared._

_When she came back in the morning, she would be a different person, for better or for worse._

The thoughts running through her mind that night were jumbled and confused, some a stark contrast to others.

_I'm going to find out about Mum!_

_I'm going to get myself killed!_

_They won't notice I'm gone… will they?_

_This better not take long._

_I wonder what really happened that night._

_What if… what if I don't want to find out?_

Alex had immediately shot that thought down. No, she had to know. She had been sheltered from it long enough.

When she got to the pool, everything was silent and in darkness as it had been that night. The only sound was the soft hum of the filter and the sound of her own shallow breaths. Her footsteps were light, her crutches making a soft click every time they connected with the tiles.

She subconsciously wrapped her arms tighter around herself, trying to rid herself of the memories. She could almost feel the cloth against her mouth and smell the chemicals wafting from it. She could feel the despair as she was torn away from Sherlock.

Her scream almost echoed around the pool, a remnant of the night.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. Took a bit longer to get here did it?" James taunted from the darkness.

"Turn on the light, James, and talk to me where I can see you," Alex ordered, glad that her voice didn't warble.

"You heard the lady."

The lights burst on, revealing Moriarty sat by the pool with his feet dipped in, gently rippling the water as he had been doing in her mind. He withdrew from the water and stood next to her, Alex stiffening.

"You ready, Miss Holmes?" he asked with no trace of a smile.

She matched his gaze with a steely one of her own, "Yes."

"Come with me, then," he began to walk to the car park.

"Where are we going?"

"Grassley Ironworks," he replied simply. "We'll be an hour, tops."

"Fine. One hour, no more."

Moriarty nodded, holding the door open for her as she hopped through. A black car waited outside, a driver with an earpiece hanging from his lobe.

"Get in then."

Alex pursed her lips before shuffling into her seat, wincing as her leg gave a painful twitch. Moriarty sat next to her and the car started up.

"Did Seb do that?" he asked, pointing to her bandaged side.

Alex painted a smile on her face and turned to him, "Yeah, good ol' Seb. How is he by the way?"

Moriarty didn't rise to her taunting, "He sends his regards."

The smile dropped from Alex's face and turned into a scowl, "He's alive then."

"Quite alive. Livid, I assure you. He says that he can't wait to get his hands on you. Partly why he isn't here with us now," Moriarty added casually.

"Tell him to pop round for coffee one day. The boys are desperate to meet him."

Moriarty smirked, "I'm sure they are."

The car stopped after another five minutes, mounting the curb and allowing the occupants to get out. Alex was disgusted with herself when she found herself unable to get out of the car with her broken leg and had to accept Moriarty's offered hand.

"What does this place have to do with my mother?"

The Ironworks was disused and falling apart judging by the signs screaming UNSTABLE STRUCTURE, STAY OUT, and DANGER in block capitals.

It basically looked like a building made entirely of thick pipes and scaffolding with mesh and wires worming through every groove. Around it was an electric fence with barbed wire across the top.

"This, Alessandra Holmes, is the place your mother and I used to meet."

Alex's jaw went slack, "Wh-what? You were friends with my mum?! Why on Earth would she be friends with _you?!"_

Moriarty shrugged, "I interested her. We were young and stupid. I was nineteen, your mother was seventeen. And by stupid, I mean smarter than everyone else but still prone to primal instincts like friendships."

"So this was before I was born. I think I'd remember seeing you as I grew up."

Moriarty nodded, walking towards the electric fence, "After you."

"Are you crazy? I'm not going in there, I'll get fried alive," Alex motioned to the skull and crossbones on the posts.

Moriarty rolled his eyes and lifted up a broken section of the fence with his finger.

Blushing slightly, Alex ducked under the dead wire and stood in front of the door. With the steel-capped toe of his shoe, he pushed the rusty sheet of metal open. He walked in, his shoes clopping quietly on the mesh.

They walked through a corridor, ducking under pipes and wires until they got to an annexe in the wall. Moriarty climbed through, Alex following with difficulty. A small room laid inside. It was almost like a shrine.

Burnt out candles with broken wicks were arranged in a circle around a mountain of pillows and blankets. Lined up on against the walls were photographs. Alex bent down to take a look at them and gasped.

"That's… but that's me!" she exclaimed inspecting it further.

"No, it's your mother," Moriarty corrected. "She's only two years older than you in that photo."

"You're with her," Alex's breathing quickened. "You have your arm around her… you weren't just friends, were you?"

Moriarty shook his head with a grin on his face, making Alex's top lip curl in disgust.

"Why are you showing me this?" Alex demanded, her eyes lit with anger. "Are you trying to taint my image of Mum? Because I tell you now, I don't –"

"How old are you Alex?" Moriarty interrupted smoothly.

"Fifteen," she replied briskly. "But my mum -"

"How old would she be now?"

"Why does it matter?" at the look on Moriarty's face, she worked it out. "Uh, she'd be thirty three now. Why do you want to know?"

Moriarty stepped forward, grasping her shoulders, "Come on, Alex, you're smart. You're more than that; you're the daughter of a genius. Work it out. Why would I bring you all the way here? What was so important that _you _needed to know?"

Alex's gaze flickered between the photographs and his face. HIS arm around HER. SHE had her lips against HIM. The dates added up… no… they couldn't… no…

"You're making it up," Alex croaked, her throat like sandpaper.

Moriarty shook his head, pointing to another photograph behind her. Alex turned, already feeling dizzy, her head whirling, when she saw Christine Baxter.

"But that… that's Logan's mother… what… what… oh my God tell me RIGHT NOW WHAT THE _HELL_ IS GOING ON?!"

Alex finally lost it, throwing down one of her crutches onto the pile of candles, smashing the glass and scattering the wax.

"Your mother had that temper," Moriarty smirked.

"IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS ONE BREAKING YOUR NOSE, YOU BETTER DO SOME EXPLAINING!" Alex shook the other crutch menacingly.

She reckoned that was the loudest she had ever shouted in her life, and the angriest she'd ever been.

"Okay, okay," Moriarty held his hands up in surrender. "I'll explain it to you."

Alex watched him with distrustful eyes as he picked up one of the cushions and sat on it.

"Seb and I were allies since our teenage years. We used to do small crimes, stealing from shops, fake IDs, that sort of thing. Then one day, we're in this shop about to take some alcohol, when your mother steps out from the isle, grabs my wrist and breaks it. I drop the bottle and it smashes, alerting the security. They see Seb, me, and your mother and jump to the conclusion that we're all taking stuff. The three of us leg it until we a few miles away."

Moriarty smiled a disconcerting, primal smile, "May laughed the most beautiful laugh as we stopped. Told us she'd needed that. Something about having issues with her brothers. We get talking and at the end of the night, she gives me her number," he laughed. "Seb was so jealous. So anyway we spoke on random nights and she fell for the whole bad-boy thing I have."

"My mum had a better sense of morality than that. I don't believe that for a second," Alex dismissed.

"Oh, she didn't know about the murders. She didn't know about Carl. I only told her about the shoplifting and minor jobs. We used to meet up here," he waved his hand around the alcove. "We made it a bit of a double-date thing. Showed it to Seb and his long-time girlfriend."

"Who was that? Dora the Explorer?" Alex drawled sarcastically.

Moriarty said nothing, just pointed to the photo behind her. Alex turned in confusion and looked back blankly. Then she processed what he was insinuating. Her head snapped back to the photo of Christine.

Alex spoke slowly, trying not to let her anger and confusion erupt again, "Moran, Sebastian Moran, was Christine Baxter's boyfriend?"

"Yes," Moriarty answered simply. "A weird woman, I don't know why he liked her. She was rough, I'll give him that, and he likes them rough-and-ready. She was also much older, I think about eleven years, had some kids herself to a previous marriage."

"How serious were they?"

"I did say 'long-time girlfriend'. They had a child together."

_Calm down, Alex. Logan has four other sisters, he has four other sisters, it's fine, it wouldn't be him, it wouldn't be him. He would tell you. Calm down._

"Christine and Seb would alternate around May and I over who would be in here. It was a good place for privacy, if you know what I mean."

"Did Sherlock and Mycroft know?"

"No. She was really a genius that woman, a true mind," Moriarty smiled nostalgically. "Anyway, one night, we do a job and get some free booze. Came up here and got completely wasted. It was the first time she'd been drunk. Had a really bad day, I remember. She'd been fighting with her oldest brother. Next thing I know, we're joined at the mouth and my hands on her thigh –"

"Oh God, spare me the details!" Alex cried, having a hard time fighting the vomit rising in her throat. "My mother wouldn't touch you with a fifty foot bargepole!"

"Well she did. When we woke up in here the next morning, should've seen her face. She scarpered, didn't call or text for weeks until I got a call in the early morning. Told me to meet her here. That's when she tells me she's pregnant. God, she cried. Christine came over and comforted her, told her a load of crap about me being a good parental figure to their child. I'm the godfather of her kid, see? May comes out with how we'd do it right and get married and a load of other ridiculous stuff. But then, a few weeks later, someone tells her about me. About the stuff I'd done. About Carl Powers."

"Who?" Alex demanded. "No-one knew about Carl being murdered, they all thought it was an accident."

"Someone obviously didn't. I don't know who it was; I'm being completely honest here. But suddenly she doesn't want anything to do with me. Of course, who would want their child growing up around a murderer? She agreed to keep everything quiet, on the grounds that I stayed away from you. As long as I stayed away from my daughter."

"You're not my father," Alex hissed vehemently.

"Let's see, shall we," Moriarty grinned. "Hold out your arm."

Alex kept them perfectly plastered to her side.

"Alex," he warned lowly. "Arm. Look, I've done mine."

He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a small pin prick.

"It's the only way you'll know."

Alex blew out a breath. She couldn't go back now. She couldn't just sit on this knowledge. She held out her arm and didn't flinch as James inserted a needle under her skin. The container filled with her blood and he pulled it out, handing it to one of his men by the door.

He inserted the blood into a handheld machine.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A new piece of kit. It won't be given to hospitals until 2019. I have certain connections that owe me; it wasn't that big of a chore to get my hands on one. If it beeps, there's a match. They're hoping it'll save time and money seeing if people are suitable donors to other people or not."

Alex braced herself as she looked at the black box. If looks could burn, it would be lathered in searing flames by now. But there was silence. A pregnant, drawn out silence.

_Please, no… yes… it's not beeping, oh I knew - !_

_BEEEEEEEEEEEEP._

One single beep. A long, monotonous beep. Alex closed her eyes, willing her tears back. She wouldn't cry… no, she couldn't cry. She felt Moriarty's hand on her shoulder. She yanked back, glowering at him.

"Don't touch me. You're nothing to me. You're a name on a birth certificate, in fact, you're not even that," Alex scoffed. "You are _nothing_."

Moriarty grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, making her shudder.

"Oh, you know I am, Alessandra. You are half me. Inside you… half Moriarty."

She stepped back again, picking up her discarded crutch to support herself.

"I'll never be part of you. I'm 100% Holmes."

Moriarty was quiet, silently watching her with a strange emotion on his face… pride?

"How did you find me?" Alex asked, steering him away from whatever he was thinking. "My mum told you to leave me alone, how did you find me once I was born? Was it through Sherlock?"

"No, no, no. I found you long before that. Or rather, someone I'm very close to did."

"Who?"

"My Godson."

Alex felt vomit rise in her throat again as she stumbled and leant against the wall.

"Logan," she whispered. "Logan's your godson. He's… he's Sebastian's son."

Moriarty nodded, "You can imagine the surprise on both Seb and I's faces when he came that weekend twelve years ago saying he'd made a new friend called Alessandra Holmes. He came to stay every other weekend after Seb and his mother split up. We were training him as our prodigy."

"'Were'?"

"I'll get to that. We told Logan to keep an eye on you and report back. When he told us of your skills both academically and your attraction to trouble, I was thrilled. But, as he grew up and developed a mind of his own, he began to drift, only telling us certain things and withholding information.

Then, when we took you last week, he snapped, said he didn't want anything to do with us anymore. Did you notice there weren't many guards? Logan killed seven of them. Stole Seb's revolver. Think it was his proudest moment as a dad. We obviously couldn't risk him doing that anymore so we put him and April in with you. He wouldn't kill in front of you."

"He wouldn't," Alex brushed away the tears falling down her cheeks, everything becoming too much. "He c-couldn't."

"Of course he can, it's what we've trained him to do since he could walk. He's been filling us in on you since you two met. How d'you think I heard about the great Sherlock Holmes? Through my daughter and godson," Moriarty laughed in glee.

Everything suddenly made so much sense in Alex's eyes. When her bag had been stolen after a Study in Pink.

_Logan shrugged, waiting for the taxi to pull away before taking out his phone and texting someone._

_"Who are you talking to?" Alex asked slightly jealously._

_"Just one of my sisters, telling them I'll be late."_

"The man who stole my bag, it was Seb. Logan texted him to let know where we were," Alex felt heart break. "And when the message was left for me on the mirror in Baker Street… he phoned me to get me out while one of your men did that."

_"Go to my house and get my wallet, Alex!"_

_"No because, as I told you, I am going to do some reading and I am not going to break into your house. You don't own me."_

"_You listen to me! Go!"_

Moriarty nodded, "He's a convincing little liar, isn't he?"

"The best," Alex whispered, letting out a tiny sob.

Moriarty lifted her chin, "Do you see why I needed to tell you, now? This is the life you can have, Alex. You and Logan. I'm the only parent you have left. You and Logan could be partners in crime, the way it should be. You never have to be afraid again because you'd have nothing to be afraid _of._ A new, better life."

"No," Alex muttered. "No, I-I like my life how it is."

He scoffed, "Really? Do you like living in fear of the big bad wolf? Do you really like being fought over by your uncles? Do you really want to be sheltered from everything because they think they know what's best for you?

Tell me, Alex, when was the last time you sat still for more than a day, even when you were injured? When you were stabbed, you climbed out the hospital window and snogged the face off my godson. When you were told to stay at Uncle Mycroft's during the lithium case, did you stay? Nooo, you went head first into danger and don't tell me you didn't enjoy it. You're a bad girl Holmes, and you've fallen for a bad boy just like your mother."

Alex wrenched herself from his grip, "I'm not you or my mother. And all I remember from the lithium case are the screams and cries of little Laura. So no, I didn't enjoy it. Take me home, James. We're finished now."

Moriarty shook his head in disappointment, "You'll change your mind. You don't belong on the side angels, daughter."

Alex raised her chin defiantly, "Take. Me. Home."

* * *

><p>They arrived back at the back alley of Baker Street. Moriarty had told her he had taken care of Mycroft's cameras so she didn't need to worry about that.<p>

She climbed out the car and looked back at him,

"One last question," she said. She'd been waiting for the comfort of Baker Street to ask it, knowing that she would most likely murder him on the spot if he provided the answer she thought he would. "Do you know why?"

He raised an eyebrow innocently, "Why what?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Alex snapped. "Do you know why… she…?"

"Killed herself?" Moriarty finished.

Alex nodded.

He took a breath, "I have no idea. I'm not lying. It was six years after you were born and I hadn't seen her for that length of time. It was just as much of a shock to you as it was to me."

"I highly doubt that," Alex murmured, remembering The Night.

"So," he continued with a smug smile. "Now that you know I had nothing to do with it, does that change things a little?"

"I won't change my mind. There isn't one part of me that doesn't hate you. There's no way I'd fight in your corner," she said with a steely stubbornness in her eye.

He nodded, "Goodbye, Alessandra Moriarty."

"Alessandra _Holmes_," she corrected venomously as she slammed the car door and clambered up the wall, using her crutches to manoeuvre herself around. The car pulled away as Moriarty gave her a two fingered salute.

Limping over to the shed, she swung into her bedroom and closed the window. The first thing she did was reach for her mobile on the bedside table. She typed in Logan's number and sent The Text.

**I know, Logan. I know everything. I know who you father is, I know that you've been spying on me all these years and feeding back to Daddy and your precious godfather. How could you do this to me? I thought you… I thought you loved me. But that was just one big lie, wasn't it? We're finished Logan. I never want to see you again. Don't even try and come round here or I'll tell Sherlock everything. See if your resolve crumbles then. **

**I suppose I should've guessed it. Even before we knew who Moriarty was you were sketchy around the name. The man who knocked into me and gave me the lotus flower, you knew him. Probably from your little chats over Sunday lunch. **

**After everything we've been through, Logan. Just, why? In fact, no. I don't want to know. Just keep away from me and my family. You're as bad as your father and godfather. They'll probably be round yours soon, begging you for more information. Well, go on then. Tell them everything I know. Shout it to the world, broadcast on BBC News. I don't care anymore. **

**Come near me or my family again and I will break one of your bones. That's if you're lucky.**

**Alex**

She pressed send and threw the phone to the floor, falling on her bed and burrowing her face in her pillow. The fabric smothered her moans as she sobbed her heart out, feeling as if it'd been plucked from her chest, thrown on the ground and stabbed through the middle.

Everything was wrong, everything. How did things get so bloody messed up?

She had to prove it to Him. She was going to prove that she was a Holmes. Not a single molecule of her being was Him.

Alex knew what she needed. She clamped her eyes closed and forced her cries to stop as she threw herself back into her mind, picturing her mother.

_Please, please, please, I need her, please, please, I need her._

_She was in the old flat she lived in when she was a toddler. Maybelline sat on the sofa, her old tattered apron over her clothes. She didn't say anything, just opened her arms and allowed her daughter to cry into her the crook of her neck._

_"I'm gonna be different, Mum," Alex whispered. "I'm staying with Sherlock and John and I'm going to work hard on the cases. I need to buck up my game and learn as solidly as I can. I'll be as good as you were, Mum. I'll show him. I'll show James."_

_Maybelline's arms tightened around her._

_"You don't need to tell me, I'm you remember."_

_Alex pulled back and instead of her mother, it was her. A carbon copy of her._

_"You'll pull through; you know inside yourself that you will. Your genetics don't make up who you are. …You'd better go to sleep properly. You'll need your strength if you want to recover quickly."_

_Alex nodded, stepping back from herself, "I haven't seen the last of him, have I?"_

_'Alex' shook her head with a sad smile, "I think you know the answer to that. Well, I _know _you know."_

* * *

><p>Jim laid back in the car, staring out of the tinted windows. He knew she would come crawling back. When things got too difficult, when something happened to her blessed Uncle Sherlock. Just you wait and see, she'd come running back to him.<p>

He smiled, that would be a good day indeed.

Sometimes you just really needed a_ fall_ to see who would be the one to catch you. Daddy Jim would make sure that it was him. It was time to do some planning.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: So, ever since the beginning people have guessed about Alex being Moriarty's daughter so well done to you! I don't think anyone guessed about Logan but if you look back over previous chapters, you can see just little things that are suspicious about him.<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Lestrollypop, vivien gorner (my computer won't upload it with the full stop?), Rose Sargent, FlewandFlied, emilybrock101, PhelSphix, Guest, Lin Volturi, rycbar15, AnotherDamnMexican149, Crossing the Galaxy 22, go get it, GottaLoveTen, Rose Tomlinson, and jokerharley1980 for reviewing!**

**Replies have already been sent to you!**

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	70. Confrontations

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! Unfortunately, there won't be replies to reviews until tomorrow because I'm on a ship right now until the early hours of tomorrow morning *sarcastic yey!*. The internet is appalling on here so I won't be able to reply right now. Also sorry for any mistakes, I'm feeling seriously sea sick!**

_Previously:_

_Alex pulled back and instead of her mother, it was her. A carbon copy of her._

_"You'll pull through; you know inside yourself that you will. Your genetics don't make up who you are. You'd better go to sleep properly. You'll need your strength if you want to recover quickly."_

_Alex nodded, stepping back from herself, "I haven't seen the last of him, have I?"_

_'Alex' shook her head with a sad smile, "I think you know the answer to that."_

Usually, John's toast was the best comfort food around. If there were beans with melted cheese on top, hey you could take Alex right now! But as she stared down at the lightly buttered toast, nausea settled in her stomach.

"Just a bite, then I'll leave you alone," John said from opposite her at the dining table.

Alex continued to glare at the bread as if it had offended her.

"Please, for me?" he prodded exasperatedly.

Alex sighed. He was playing the 'for me' card. Emotional blackmail, that's what that was. Pure and simple. Deciding it was better just to get it over with, Alex brought the toast to her mouth, trying not to gag at the smell, and nibbled the edge. She hastily swallowed it as if it were medicine and gulped down a mouthful of the water next to her.

"There. Happy now?"

"Averagely happy," John replied, taking away the toast and replenishing her water. "I'll be completely happy when you manage a full plate."

Alex shivered, "I don't think I'll ever be able to do that."

"You say that now… Actually, I need to go to the shops, fancy coming? It might do you good to get some fresh air and you might see something you fancy eating there," John suggested, obviously pleased with himself for coming up with the idea.

"Yeah. It'll be nice to do something normal," Alex agreed, using her crutches to pull herself up. "But you can tell Sherlock while I get ready."

John resisted the urge to groan at the thought as he turned into the living room and confronted the consulting detective.

"I'm taking Alex out –"

"No, you're not," Sherlock overrode him, still concentrating on the morning paper in his hand.

"Sherlock," John chastised. "You can't lock her up here; you aren't doing her any favours. We're only going to the shop. I'll be with her the whole time."

"She was with both of us when she was taken; I doubt you'd be much use if it happened again."

John growled in frustration, "We're going to the supermarket, not to meet a murderer like last time. She'll be _completely fine._"

Sherlock glanced up briefly from his newspaper and after a few moments of silence reluctantly agreed, seeing Alex already with her coat on at the doorway.

She sent a grin John's way.

"There must be something you like, _somewhere,_" John said in the same exasperated tone as with the toast that morning. "What about those raisin biscuits you like?"

Seeing how hard John was trying, Alex let up, "Yeah… okay, fine. They sound okay."

He gave her a look, "If you are just saying that to shut me up and then put the biscuits in the cupboard until you're twenty, you have another thing coming."

Alex sighed, "I'm sorry, just… nothing tastes right anymore. I know I'm being awkward but I'm just being honest. Okay, I'm going to get some soup; I promise I'll eat half a bowl if I don't have to have the toast in the morning."

"Okay," John replied instantly, pointing to the isle four rows away. "Soup's that way."

"Good, thanks John… I'm still gonna have to eat the toast, aren't I?"

"Yep. Soup's that way," John repeated with an exaggerated smile.

She glared at him half-heartedly and went to retrieve the food. The only one that jumped out at her was the chicken, the others just looked like tinned marsh water with chunks of Sherlock's experiments floating in them. Alex picked up the chicken and was inspecting the label, when she felt a tap on the shoulder.

"Yeah, John, I'll –" Alex stopped short, the tin falling from her hand as she saw who she was talking to.

"Alex, let me explain–" Logan began, his eyes wild.

"No. I told you to leave me alone. Go on, toddle off, Baxter," Alex hissed, pushing down the urge to cry again.

As she bent down to pick up the dropped tin, he stooped down and picked it up first. She snatched it from his hand.

"Go away, Logan. I have nothing to say to you."

"Well I have things to say to you. You need to let me explain, please. Just please let me explain," his eyes shimmered under the fluorescent lights. "Five minutes, that's all I need."

"Fine. I'll break your ribs if you tell me a pack of lies," Alex threatened as he led her outside the shop and down the alley next to it.

"Be quick. John will notice I'm taking too long otherwise," Alex wrapped her coat tighter around herself as the chill set in. "And I'm only doing this on the ground that you leave me alone from now."

Logan nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"So how did you find out?" he began lamely. "No, don't answer that. He told you, didn't he? Moriarty."

"Your_ godfather_," Alex snarled.

"I didn't want you to find out like this… I just… I couldn't tell you. Not after everything that happened. I couldn't risk us."

"You couldn't risk your own neck because you knew I'd leave you in that funhouse," Alex corrected bitterly. "Though, it wouldn't be too bad, would it? All you'd do is waltz over to Daddy and Goddaddy and it'd be like a scene from a messed-up Disney film."

"Whatever. I did try, Alex. I tried to keep you safe once I realised what their intentions were. I got you out the flat when they wrote the message. Y'know they were supposed to take you then? I overheard what they said they were going to do to you… it was worse than what they did," Logan's face screwed up in disgust.

"What were they going to do?" Alex asked guardedly, dread rising in her.

He looked her dead in the eye, "You can imagine."

Alex swallowed, "He wouldn't…" _yes he would. _

"I couldn't let that happen to you."

"Hey, that doesn't take away the fact that you lied to me for years," Alex replied hotly. "I have to hand it to them, they've trained you well." Alex laughed a humourless laugh, "Take a bow, Logan. You played the part perfectly, you had me fooled."

"Alex, I do love you, you know that –"

"Do I? Did you love me when you kissed me? Did you love me when I told you how I felt? Or how about the lithium case? When we spent every minute together, did you love me then?"

Logan looked down in shame, heat rising to his cheeks.

Alex set her jaw in attempt to stop the sob bubbling in her throat, "Goodbye, Logan. We used to be inseparable. Now look. And don't think I'm going to forgive you. How can I? This is the last time I want to see you. Stay away from 221B. Keep your family away from mine."

Alex turned to leave when he caught her sleeve. He had tears on his cheeks, "Please, Alex. Let me start over. I don't want to live that way."

"You made your choice," she pulled her arm away. "I never, _ever, _want to see or even think about you ever again. As far as I'm concerned, you never existed."

Her heart screaming otherwise, Alex turned and hopped on her crutches back into the shop.

Logan watched her go with desperation etched into his face. There she went, his last lifeline. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have done those things?

He looked down at his hands. He could still see the blood. _Their _blood. The men. It was real and thick and horrible.

With an awful wail, Logan thrust his hands against the wall, taking off a layer of skin on the bricks. He kicked at the building, the more painful the kick, the better.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he spat, his words dripping with self-loathing.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Through his angry tears, he made out the blurry message.

**Come home, son. We have things to do. There's a woman here I'd like you to meet. I think you'll like her – SM**

Alex cleared her face and composed herself as much as she could as she went to see John, picking up the once again dropped chicken soup from the floor.

"Hi John, sorry I took so long," she apologised with fake airiness.

"Difficult decision?" he joked as he bagged up the shopping.

Alex smiled, adding quietly, "You could say that."

They walked out the shop, Alex staying silent and closer to John than she had done on the way there. He noticed.

"Are you okay? Is your leg or side hurting?" he asked in concern.

Alex looked up at him with a frown, "No, why would you think that?"

"You aren't talking and your knuckles are almost white around your crutches."

"I just want to get home, that's all," she reassured the man unsuccessfully.

"Well here's someone who might cheer you up," John said, nodding behind then.

Alex jerked violently around and saw Logan coming towards them.

"Alex, I know what you said –"

"Leave it Logan!" Alex yelled, her eyes flashing dangerously.

John looked confusedly between the pair, "Whoa, what-?"

"I told you to leave me alone!"

"I can't. Once you go into that flat, there's nothing else I can do," Logan said urgently.

"Good. Watch me."

Alex turned and disappeared round the corner, hopping up the steps of 221B, opening the front door.

Logan was about to run after her when John's hand pulled him back.

"Just give her some time to cool off," he said wisely. "What's happened now? Argument?"

"I've been an idiot, John," Logan murmured. "I've done something I can't make up for."

John eyed him warily, "Have you hurt her?"

"Inadvertently. I never meant it to go this far, I promise."

"Tell me what's happened."

Logan began to back away, his phone buzzing again in his back pocket.

"I can't… I have to… go," his eyes were wide and frightened. "Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her if she changes her mind to go to the Ironworks. Please, John, tell her."

John nodded, still confused, "Of course, but it's a bit dramatic isn't it? You'll be best friends in the morning. Which Ironworks?"

"Tell her," Logan muttered, ignoring John's comment and sprinting back the way he had come, vanishing round the corner.

John shook his head and bemusement, returning to the flat. Alex was sat on the sofa with her head in her hands. John sat next to her, an arm around her shoulders.

"Hey, it can't be that bad. People in a relationship fall out all the time. You'll get over it."

Alex shook her head, rubbing her eyes furiously, "It doesn't matter anyway."

"What doesn't matter?" a deep voice asked from the doorway.

Alex looked at her uncle.

"Nothing," she lied, turning away before he could begin to deduce.

But he already had.

"You've been crying. Your sleeve is torn and you're pale. Tell me," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

John silently left, allowing the family some privacy. Sherlock took his space next to his niece on the sofa.

"Is it Logan Baxter? Do I need to arrange his murder?"

Alex let out a teary laugh, "No… we're just not together anymore."

"You wouldn't be so upset if that was all. You aren't telling me everything," Sherlock gave her a pointed look.

"You want to know what happened to me, don't you? You want to know everything L-Logan couldn't tell you," Alex filled in the blanks, leaning back into the sofa.

"I won't pretend otherwise. I think it would help us both."

"It really wouldn't."

"Yes, it would."

"You know all that you need to. Everything else is just details. Meaningless to anyone but me."

"They're not meaningless to me."

"I don't want to talk about this," Alex said, feeling her breathing getting more difficult. "If you'd excuse me, I'm going upstairs."

"Do you need any help?" John asked from the kitchen.

"No."

In truth, she supposed she should have said yes, as clambering up the stairs had proven difficult and by the time she got to the top, her wrist and side were beginning to throb. Once in her bedroom, she threw down her crutches with a clatter and buried her head in her pillows.

She wouldn't cry again. Not for him. Not for Logan or Moriarty or even for herself. Talking about it would just bring forth emotions she needed to suppress.

In any case, there would be significant blanks in her story that Sherlock would notice. Things she couldn't tell him. Like who Moriarty really was to her. Sherlock and Mycroft would never see her the same way, never think of their sister the same way. Her mother had kept her secret for all those years, Alex wouldn't dare taint her memory now.

And then there was William. The way he had scoffed when she mentioned her uncles. He knew they couldn't help him. In fact, even if they found him, he said he had killed people, they would have no choice but to convict him. That wasn't the repayment he deserved. He was probably dead now anyway. Like Lee.

"Shut up," Alex muttered to herself.

She had to think of something else. Her mind inadvertently wandered to the argument between Mycroft and Sherlock. Of course, there had been too many to count, but Alex focussed on the most recent one. About where she was going to live.

She didn't want to stay with Mycroft. A weekend was fine, permanently was too much. It reminded her of the dark year she spent there after her mother died. And besides, those big halls seemed too empty. Not forgetting the fact Mycroft would probably never let her leave.

No, she needed to talk to him.

Gathering up her discarded crutches, Alex made her way to the window sill and took the landline, punching in Mycroft's number and sitting back on her bed – sitting in her desk chair pulled at her wound.

_"Alex?"_

"Hey, Uncle Mycroft," Alex replied fake-cheerily.

_"I wasn't expecting a call from you. How are you fairing?"_

"Yeah, good," she muttered distractedly. "Look, about the whole situation, I need to talk to you about staying at Baker Street, I –"

_"Did Sherlock put you up to this?"_

"No! I just wanted to say that I want to stay here. Obviously I'll come round yours to stay some nights as I've always done, but I'm happy here. Let me stay."

Alex didn't care how pathetic she sounded.

_"Will you be happy when all of this happens again and you aren't able to escape?"_

His words made Alex's stomach clench, but she managed to keep her voice even, "It won't happen again. He won't come near me anymore, he got what he wanted."

_"What do you mean?"_

Uh-oh. She'd slipped up.

"I just mean that… he got your attention. He didn't really want _me, _he just wanted to scare you and Sherlock. Well, he did that, didn't he?"

_"… Yes, he did that. Are you sure you want to do this? You know how dangerous it is to stay with your other uncle."_

"I know. I've stayed with him now for eight years, I know the drill."

Mycroft sighed on the other end of the phone, _"It's your decision. But the fact still remains that _if _this happens again –"_

"Oh, for God's sake it won't!"

_"Alex," _his tone was warning. _"We know things about Moriarty that you don't. You don't understand how dangerous he is."_

"Don't I?" Alex laughed mirthlessly. "That's ironic because I think I'm the person who knows him the best. After all, he was the one who tortured me days on end and sent me messages before that."

_"Alex, I didn't –"_

"Oh shut up," she was sick of talking to him. "I'm staying here."

Before he had the chance to reply, Alex closed the lid on her phone, successfully cutting him off. In fact, that was the _only _way you could cut one of her uncles off. A temporary measure would be to tell them something shocking, but it would have to be seriously shocking. Like that she was pregnant with triplets and had to marry the thirty year old father who lived in Illinois.

Despite the day, the thought made her laugh.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank yous will be made in the next chapter and replies tomorrow. (That's if I ever get off this god-forsaken ship. The seasickness is just too much).<strong>

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**Abby**

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	71. The Pronged Puppeteer - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hi! Back on dry land now, thank the Lord! We now have an original case because I had way too much time on my hands whilst in the middle of the sea. A Scandal in Belgravia will come directly after this one since the original case isn't too long :D**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Before he had the chance to reply, Alex closed the lid on her phone, successfully cutting him off. In fact, that was the only way you could cut one of her uncles off. A temporary measure would be to tell them something shocking, but it would have to be seriously shocking. Like that she was pregnant with triplets and had to marry the thirty year old father who lived in Illinois._

_Despite the day, the thought made her laugh._

In the months that followed, Alex slowly began to get better. John had managed to make her eat more, making her lose that terrible sallow look she had attained. Her leg was healing well and would be out of the cast in just a couple of weeks. Her side still pained her but was – according to John – going to ease off in a few more days.

The truth of her parentage was a different matter entirely. She hadn't told anyone. She had come quite close to telling Molly, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the words hid away inside her and refused to be spoken. Mostly because if she herself said it, it would make it more real. There would be no denying it anymore. That was the last thing she wanted.

Logan, obligingly, had left her alone. She would be lying if Alex said that she wasn't secretly hoping to bump into him again, but she knew where that would get her. Seeing him again would only make things so much harder. She knew she had to stop being so childish and stupid for her family. Logan was now a threat, no matter how much she chose to deny it. He was a big of a threat as his godfather and father.

There had been a steady trickle of cases flowing into Baker Street over the few weeks. Just small things like missing pets or runaway teenagers that came running _back_ the moment the parents called the police. Needless to say, this was driving Sherlock up the – newly shot – wall.

That was until Sherlock's phone pinged. Alex's cast had come off and she was only using one crutch to support her weak leg. There was no use for it really, because she had spent most of her time watching the TV with John. Sherlock had taken to hiding himself away in the kitchen doing freaky experiments on body parts.

He had been so quiet for days, that John and Alex turned in shock at the sound of his voice when he came running in the living room looking like a child in a theme park.

"Murder?" Alex asked knowingly, pulling on her coat.

Sherlock nodded, "Lestrade just texted. Apparently a gruesome murder on Brandyhill Farm a few miles away."

His voice was excited and a smirk was plastered on his face, causing John and Alex to roll their eyes at him as he bounded out the door and hailed a cab.

* * *

><p>They really didn't need directions to get to the farm; all you had to do was look for the haze of blue lights leading up the stony farm path.<p>

Sherlock led the way, his coat collar turned up and the tail of his coat getting caked in dust from the gravel. John followed him, Alex trailing behind, her leg slowing her down a little.

The farmhouse wasn't that different from the one she and April had stayed in – she refused to even acknowledge the presence of their third party member. The house itself was a bungalow with a good sized garden and three barns in the yard to the side of it. One, Alex could see, housed cows, the other sheep, and the other was unclear as the gate was on the other side. All in all, pretty similar. Only this time, police were swarming around it with blue forensic suits on and grim, pale faces.

Lestrade was one of those faces. He came from behind one of the barns looking worn and vaguely sick. He perked up at the sight of the trio, however, and jogged over to them.

"Where is it?" Sherlock asked instantly asked before pleasantries could begin.

"In the barn," Lestrade caught Sherlock's arm as he pushed past. He turned to him questioningly. "I'd take a deep breath before going in if I were you."

Sherlock frowned at him and rounded into the barn anyway, stopping in the doorway.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John asked, running to stand next to the taller man.

He immediately paled and had to look away for a moment to compose himself.

"Alex, stay there," Sherlock's deep voice ordered before she could move to see what they were looking at.

She pursed her lips in annoyance, folding her arms across her chest. Typical, the first _real_ case for a month and she wasn't allowed to look. Alex could hear them talking quietly, Lestrade giving her an apologetic smile as he went to join them.

The distinct voice of Donovan became clearer as she came out of the barn door with a subtle hand over her mouth. Her jaw was set tightly. Alex, feeling sorry for the woman went over to her.

"You okay, Donovan?" she asked, putting their differences aside.

The woman looked up at her curiously, it being the first time seeing her since she was taken.

"Uh, yeah. Just don't go in there. You could… contaminate the evidence," she struggled to find an excuse and left to stand next to another member of her team.

Alex, of course, knew that it wasn't because of contamination that she wasn't allowed in. Either Sherlock didn't want her part of the case – which was unlikely given that he allowed her to come and knew it was pointless from the other times he'd tried – or they thought it would be 'too upsetting'. That had happened before. And they'd had a point. But she'd grown up since then. It was time they knew that. Though it was petulant nonetheless.

Taking Lestrade's advice, she sucked in a deep breath and walked around to the open gate of the barn. She resisted the urge to gasp, knowing it would immediately get her the 'you're not old enough to deal with this' speech.

Sherlock, John and Lestrade were circled around the body of an elderly man. But he wasn't on the floor, he was hanging.

What seemed like blood-stained gardening twine was tied around the crook of his elbows and the beams on the low barn roof so that his forearms and legs dangled limply beside him. His clothes and skin were drenched in blood, his eyes closed tightly with a look of agony on his face. The blood was concentrated around his throat.

"He looks like a puppet," Alex piped up, determined to keep her voice strong.

The three men turned their attention to her, their talking ceasing.

"Alex, I told you to wait outside," Sherlock chastised angrily.

Not being put-off by the less-than-happy expression on his face, Alex carried on walking towards the body, "Well I've seen it now. Four minds are better than three."

Sherlock hesitated, torn between sending her back outside to wait, and fulfil his burning curiosity as to how his niece would start. The fact that she didn't seem upset had surprised him… and worried him. Moriarty had really changed her.

"Fine," he said, motioning to the body. "Go on, deduce. See what you can find out."

Lestrade and John looked at him in disbelief as Alex nodded firmly and grasped the man's wrists. A watch protruded from under his shirt fabric and she pulled it back to see that it had broken when he had been killed, 3:15.

"He's been dead thirty minutes."

She tried to get up to inspect his neck, but found she wasn't tall enough. He was suspended too high up even for Sherlock to reach.

Her uncle noticed this and turned to Lestrade, "When are you taking him down?"

"Whenever you're finished. We were just waiting for your opinion after the last time we moved a victim," the detective inspector looked at him pointedly.

Sherlock shrugged, unfazed.

"Wait," Alex said suddenly from behind the body as Anderson went off in search of a ladder. "The cause of death was obviously an incision to the throat and he choked on his own blood, but there's a small mark on his back."

Alex pointed it out as Sherlock walked around to see, his brow knitted together in concentration.

"Is it not a spatter of blood?" John suggested.

Alex ripped a little of the material around the bloodstain and saw an identical pockmark in his skin.

"It looks like he was stabbed with something tiny but sharp. I… don't really understand why they'd do that, though. I mean, it was probably after they'd gone for the throat, he was going to die anyway."

Sherlock's lip quirked up into a proud smile as slipped back into the well-worn shoes of her teacher. It felt good to do it again.

"Alex, if you'd just stabbed someone and you needed it to go unnoticed until you got away, what would be the one factor that would alert an unwanted visitor?" Sherlock questioned, putting his hands on her shoulders like he used to.

"Uh… a witness maybe? Someone watching who wasn't supposed to be?"

"No, no, you've already checked the area. What would the victim be doing that could alert someone of what was happening?"

Alex's mouth twitched to the side in thought, "Well if he was stabbed anywhere else, he'd be screaming, but considering the murder weapon took care of his throat and vocal chords, he'd find screaming… pretty… hard," she had subtly swallow before carrying on. "So the other thing would be if he made a bolt for it. Alerted someone down near the path. Or mess up the killer's display."

"Good. Now why would the murderer target the back?" Sherlock pressed.

Alex drew a blank, looking at John from the corner of her eye. He mouthed to her 'spinal cord'.

"Spinal cord," she relayed to Sherlock, earning herself a ruffle of her hair. "He wouldn't be able to move."

Sherlock turned back to Lestrade, "We'll take a look inside the house. Has anyone been in yet?"

The DI shook his head, "We've only just got here as well. We were called by the cattleman who found the poor sod only twenty minutes ago."

"Excellent," Sherlock grinned insensitively as he opened the front door.

His shoes immediately crunched on broken glass on the WELCOME doormat. He stooped down, brushing some of the fragments into a clear bag.

"He wasn't killed here. There isn't any blood."

A brown liquid stained the mat and the floor around it. Alex recognised it as soon as she smelt it.

"Bell's Whiskey," she pointed out as she moved past Sherlock and into the kitchen.

John and Sherlock shared a confused look before following after her, Sherlock pocketing the neck of the bottle for DNA testing.

The kitchen was tiny with a range and an island table taking up all the room. A small pantry branched off to the back of it. Sherlock walked directly over to the sink. The tap was still running and blood was still evident near the plughole.

John was rifling through the post that sat in an untidy pile on the kitchen table.

"Mr Arnold Harrison," he read out.

Alex was stood next to the fridge holding a photo frame in her hand. It showed the old man when he was much younger, perhaps forty outside a tent. A sort of show tent. Intrigued, Alex slid the picture further up from the frame and read the sign at the top of it.

ROOLLL UP! ROOLLL UP FOR THE PUNCH AND JUDY SHOW! FREE FOR UNDER 5s! PRESENTED TO YOU BY THE GREAT ARNOLD HARRISON!

"I told you he looked like a puppet," Alex said quietly as she held out the photo frame to the men.

John peered over to it as Sherlock stored it in his coat to take back to the flat, a thoughtful look on his face.

"So whoever the murderer is knows he used to be a puppeteer, that's obvious from the style of death…" Sherlock trailed off, his finger tucked under his chin.

"I'd say he was a professional," John remarked. "He went straight for the throat to cut off the vocal cords and in the central nervous system. He obviously knew what he was doing."

"What do you mean, an assassin?" Alex asked.

"No," Sherlock dismissed. "It's too sloppy to be an assassin. Look at the blood in the sink and the glass on the doormat. An assassin wouldn't linger after he'd killed someone. He's obviously killed Harrison outside and then come in here after he'd hung up the body. I'd say we were looking at a professional killer, but not of humans."

"A hunter," John finished off for him. "Makes sense."

"It also makes sense why he panicked. He wasn't used to taking human life and…"

Alex zoned out for a moment. She could hear something other than Sherlock and John conversing. There was… there was something else speaking. Maybe Arnold had left the TV on? But he was killed outside, he wouldn't leave the television on and then go outside. It was coming from further in the house.

Unnoticed by the boys, Alex pushed open the door into the hallway, leaving it open ajar behind her. The speaking was louder in here, more refined.

_"And today, we have a special treat! The show's going to last an extra half an hour!"_

That sentence playing over and over in a high pitched, male, simpering voice. Looking down the hallway, there were four doors. Three of them were on the long wall to the left. The living room, bathroom, and bedroom. But straight down the long corridor, on the door completely opposite her and alone on the wall, the noise was louder, and light was flickering from under the door.

Licking her lips, eyes wide with anticipation and fear, Alex walked slowly and purposefully down the corridor, her crutch carried in her left hand, unused. The music and chatter got louder and louder as she pushed the door open.

If this were a bad horror film, the door would have creaked open and a wave of foreboding would wash over her. But the door didn't creak. It just opened silently, creating a whole new sinister atmosphere.

Placed against the wall facing the door was an old box television that looked like it was from the 1950s. Playing on it in grainy black and white, was footage of a Punch and Judy show put on a loop. Those words over and over again.

_"And today, we have a special treat! The show's going to last an extra half an hour!"_

A massive cheer went up from the audience, but Alex was looking away from the screen. Under the door that she was stood next to, crimson was beginning to stain the carpet. Taking a shuddering breath, Alex stepped inside the room and looked behind the door.

She let out a strangled cry.

In front of her was a postman – going by his uniform – sat up in the study chair, lathered in blood with knife wounds scattered across his chest and abdomen. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was his face. Two blood stained pencils were forced into his cheeks and chin, forcing his lips up into a crude and terrifying smile as he was forced to watch the Punch and Judy show.

Her cry was quieter than she had thought as neither John nor Sherlock had heard her. Pushing down the urge to sprint into the farmyard and cling to one of the police cars to get someone to take her home, she shouted through the house.

"John! Sherlock! You'd better come in here."

Her voice was shaky and unstable, but not so much that it was blatantly obvious. She tried to focus on anything other than the smile as her uncle and John entered the room.

"What's -?" John stopped dead, his mouth open slightly in disgust and shock.

Sherlock merely raised his eyebrows.

"John, I think we'd best tell Lestrade to change the investigation status to _double _homicide."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: E I Cochrane, emilybrock101, simplemusings12, Rose Tomlinson, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Lyriel, rycbar15, Diversdown, LinVolturi, sherlocked132, AnotherDamnMexican149, Kelliston, vivien gorner, 19AddieHolmes96, GottaLoveTen, Insane-Mad-Hatter07, Rose Sargent, FlewandFlied, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Guest, Guest, DeffoNotEmmy, kie1993, Guest, Aisha Firth, Owl Indigo, silent song of shadows, Guest, Guest, Guest, and Ranger Maestro for reviewing!<strong>

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	72. The Pronged Puppeteer - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Back to school in a few days so updates might be a teeny bit slower but I'll write chapters in the back of RE or something :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Her voice was shaky and unstable, but not so much that it was blatantly obvious. She tried to focus on anything other than the smile as her uncle and John entered the room._

_"What's -?" John stopped dead, his mouth open slightly in disgust and shock._

_Sherlock merely raised his eyebrows._

_"John, I think we'd best tell Lestrade to change the investigation status to double homicide."_

"You okay?" John asked in concern as the two walked around the farmhouse garden's vegetable patch. Sherlock was still with the body of the postman.

Alex looked over to him from where she was running a hand over an impressively large pumpkin.

"Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" she tried her best not to be defensive, trying to take a nonchalant approach.

"It's just… these murders are horrific, and you found the postman. It shook _me _up, I can't imagine how you feel," John treaded carefully.

"You don't need to imagine. I feel fine," she gave him a tight smile.

He fell silent, just watching her as she turned her back and bent down to the farm cocker spaniel that was tied up to the fence. She clicked her tongue and gingerly held out her hand. The dog nudged her fingers, giving her a lick.

"You're lovely, aren't you?" Alex cooed, rubbing the dog behind the ear and fingering his collar. "What's your name, then? Ohh, hello Chuck."

"Good name," John remarked as he made his way over to the pair. "I used to have a –"

Alex snapped her head to John as he let out a surprised yelp, then a growl of pain and embarrassment. Alex couldn't help but laugh as the rake he had stood on fell back down to the floor. She immediately sobered up as she saw his forehead.

"God, John, you're bleeding!" she edged around the pumpkin patch towards him.

"Am I? It didn't hurt that much," John frowned.

Pulling her sleeve over her hand, Alex pressed the material to his head, wiping away the blood. Her eyes widened when it all came off, not a scratch underneath.

"John… I don't think it's your blood," she said slowly.

They both looked down to the rake in realisation and saw it to be smothered in scarlet from the handle to the metal spikes that branched off at the top.

"I think we found the murder weapon."

"There's a prong missing," John pointed out as he sent Sherlock a text.

Alex knelt next to it – careful to refrain from contact – and inspected the remaining prongs. There were four left and the fifth had been snapped halfway down.

"You know I was saying about the mark on his back. That it had to be something small and sharp to stab in the spinal cord," Alex trailed off, staring at the missing prong. "This is where he was killed. In the vegetable patch. The soil has camouflaged the colour of the blood and soaked most of it up. So the man we're looking for must be strong to carry the man across the farmyard without having to drag him and leave a trail."

Chuck gave a low whine, setting his head down on his paws. Though the idea was absurd, it was almost like he knew what had happened to his ex-owner. Alex felt a surge of sympathy for the dog and walked back to him, unclipping the lead from the fence and holding it.

"You aren't taking that home," Sherlock's voice rumbled as he strode down to inspect the rake, having received the text from John.

"Not forever! Just until all this blows over and then he can be rehomed. There's no one to look after him now," Alex lifted up his head, puffing out his ears for good measure. "You can't leave an innocent here. He watched his owner get murdered in front of his eyes. You shouldn't leave someone alone after that, even if they're a dog. You don't know what they might do."

That got Sherlock's attention. He looked over to her, examining her face. She was just running her hand over Chuck's ears, but he could see the sadness in her eyes.

"Fine. But you'll have to take him for walks, and I won't have him smelling up the flat for more than a week, deal?" Sherlock compromised.

Alex smiled and nodded, the smile not sincere enough for someone just being told they could look after a dog. She wrapped his lead around her wrist and came to stand next to her uncle.

"Can we get anything from this, then?" she asked, breezily changing the subject.

He blew out a breath, "If you mean fingerprints or DNA, no. The little fibres sticking in the blood suggests the man was wearing leather gloves."

"So he planned it out then," John said. "People don't walk around with leather gloves randomly. In this weather people would usually wear cotton."

"Very good, John," Sherlock praised patronisingly, earning a light chuckle from Alex and a blush from their flatmate. "That's all we need here. Back to Baker Street."

* * *

><p>At 221B, the trio had done what they always did on a case, and pinned up photos of evidence on the mirror with ribbon sprouting between them, and laid out the actual evidence across the coffee table. Alex, unlike usual, stayed silently over in the corner, watching the mirror from afar and letting John and Sherlock get close up to the photos. Her laptop was in her hand and her fingers hovering expectantly over it, yet she didn't know what to type. Stupidly, she thought if she just waited long enough, her fingers would hammer away of their own accord on the keyboard and <em>pop <em>there was the murderer. That would be the day.

Chuck the dog was laid obediently by the window, just watching passer-bys with mild interest and scratching himself now and again.

Sherlock and John were talking quietly between themselves, John doing most of the talking whilst Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin in thought. As much as he tried to push her from his mind, every time he looked at the photo of the hanging elderly man, he just pictured Alex's emotionless face. If she had seen that before the newly dubbed 'Great Game', she would have been inconsolable.

_Stop, Sherlock. Concentrate on the case. Emotions come later._

"What age bracket are we looking at?" John asked, snapping Sherlock back to reality.

"Between twenty and forty. More leaning towards forty going by the fact that the murderer went for whiskey instead of the vodka next to it. That's what youths drink these days apparently."

"Okay, second question, why the hell would they target the old man. I know, I know, before you say it. He was a puppeteer and that's why he was killed, but _why? _And why the postman?_"_

Sherlock pursed his lips, not wanting to say 'I don't know' as usual.

"Maybe the murderer went to one of his shows when they were a kid," Alex piped up. "Maybe they were scarred from it… maybe Mr Harrison abused or upset them so once they were older, they got revenge."

"It's a little over the top though, isn't it," John pointed out. "I once was slapped by my swimming instructor when I was a kid so I put my next door neighbour's ferret through his letter box, I didn't commit homicide."

"But look at Carl Powers," Alex contradicted. "James murdered him because he 'laughed at him'."

"Not everyone is a raving lunatic like Moriarty," Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes slightly when she said 'James'. Research it anyway."

She gave a nod and began furiously typing on the laptop, drowning out the boys' continued conversation. She brought up old newspapers on a PDF file and typed in the year 1950 and began going through from there. Hopefully it would mention a new show being set up, but Alex didn't have any luck until she reached 12th April 1982. It was growing dark outside – Sherlock and John still nattering – and Alex was having to squint at the screen and almost yelled in delight when she found it.

_Roll up your sleeves, and roll up to the new Punch and Judy show!_

_Yes, that's right, a new Punch and Judy show is here now, right on your doorstep. You never know, it could be London's finest! Shows are thirty minutes long, and at just one pound a ticket, it's such a bargain, I might be there every night! Join your puppeteer Arnold Harris for a fantastic show! That's the way to do it!_

Deciding to wait until Sherlock and John were finished muttering, Alex bookmarked the page and carried on scrolling for what she hoped would be a story about a scandal or threat to do with Harrison or maybe someone around that time. She wasn't disappointed when she stumbled across an article dated 13th May.

_Man Killed by Lorry Driver_

_It has been confirmed that at exactly half past four yesterday afternoon (12th May), one Harvard Howell was fatally injured in a collision between the pedestrian and a lorry. The lorry driver has passed alcohol tests and will not stand trial for dangerous driving._

_It is believed that Mr Howell ran out in front of the lorry whilst in a rush and thereby suffering the full impact of the crash. It is thought he was trying to find his son who had not returned from school. Whilst paramedics were immediately called and arrived in under five minutes, Mr Howell was pronounced dead at the scene._

_This has been described as a tragic accident and a cruel twist of fate, and is not being put down as suspicious in any way. We send our condolences to Mr Howell's only family – his 10 year old son, Darren._

Though pitying the situation and outcome of the article, Alex couldn't help but feel a little deflated. She had thought she had been on to something, she really had. She froze for a moment as she heard something… inside her head… an echo… no… _him… _Gritting her teeth, Alex forced the thought away and stared intensely at the screen. As long as she was busy, he would leave her alone. She had forced him out, but there were still a few wisps of him left.

Shaking her head and clicking on the news article the next day, the hope that had died down in her chest inflated again as she read.

_Crash Victim's Son Critically Injured after Attempt to Take Own Life_

_In the late hours of last night, a 10 year old boy named Darren Howell attempted suicide after the tragic death of his father on Tuesday. Harvard Howell was killed by a collision involving a lorry, and is what is thought to have triggered the suicide attempt._

_At approximately 11:45 last night, Mrs Avery, the Howells' next door neighbour was settling down for the night when she saw movement in the garden while closing the curtains. The boy, Darren, had been taken by social services immediately after his father's death, but had managed to slip away unnoticed and sneak back into his house where he made a beeline for his father's hunting rifle. The movement Mrs Avery saw was 10 year old Darren taking the gun out into the garden and pointing it at his head._

_The neighbour screamed once she realised what he was about to do and thereby startled Darren and knocking off his aim but not managing to divert the bullet's course completely. Paramedics were called immediately and found there to be a severe head trauma and damage to both of the boy's hands._

_A friend of Darren gave us this statement, 'Darren's always been really laidback and stuff, I just can't believe my best mate would try to do that. I mean, it was just yesterday that we were laughing our butts off at a Punch and Judy show, to think now he'd tried to kill himself… I just don't know, mate. I don't wanna even think about it.'_

_Inquiries are being launched at the care home to see how something like this could have happened, and ensure the safety of the children under its care._

"Sherlock, John," Alex called out quietly.

They turned to look at her as she spun the laptop to face them, rubbing her eyes furiously. God, they itched after looking at a screen for so long.

Sherlock's face split into a grin as he finished to the end of the article. He plucked the laptop from Alex's knee, placed it on the floor and scooped Alex up, spinning her around madly like when she was younger.

"You're brilliant! You really are, Alex Holmes," he beamed, setting her down on her feet and going back over the article was increased vigour.

Alex giggled and let her head flop back onto the cushion behind her. It felt fulfilling as it always did when she provided a piece to the puzzle, but her head and eyes ached from watching the laptop for hours and she still hadn't regained full strength. Nevertheless, there was a murder to solve.

"So this boy, well, now _man, _is the one who killed Arnold and the postman?" John asked, not catching on.

"Yes, John," Sherlock grinned excitedly. "Don't you see? It all fits. The friend said that they'd been to the Punch and Judy show – _Harrison's_ Punch and Judy show – and that was when his father was killed. What if Harrison kept him back and that was what made him later than usual coming home from school?"

"Wait," Alex suddenly remembered something. "When I found the postman, there was a TV playing the Punch and Judy recording. It kept saying '_And today, we have a special treat! The show's going to last an extra half an hour!'. _What if that extra half an hour was what made his father come out and look for him?"

"That's why he would target him," John nodded, realisation on his face.

Alex bit her lip in thought, "We should check his medical records, see if he was diagnosed with anything like depression or something similar. Or even if he survived. We might be getting a little ahead of ourselves. It does seem very far-fetched to go and murder the guy."

She passed her laptop to Sherlock.

"Go on, uncle, work your voodoo."

"It isn't voodoo," he grumbled as he began hammering away at the keyboard. "It's computer science."

Alex nodded unconvincingly, mouthing to John, 'voodoo'.

"Here," Sherlock said, the other two looking at the screen over his shoulder. "One Darren Howell, born 2nd January 1972."

He moved the cursor over to his files and brought them up. John let out a low whistle at the sheer amount of entries.

"Well, he survived," Alex said, pointing to a case of malnutrition catalogued last week. "Go back to when he was ten, see what it says."

Sherlock waved his hand impatiently, already moving down to it. He brought it up as a document but the words were long and complicated with strange diagrams and handwritten, shorthand notes.

John, being the doctor he was, could decipher it easily, "It says when he shot himself, it skimmed the top of his skull, taking a chunk of the frontal lobe of the brain. I didn't study neurology but I'm pretty certain that it controls personality and emotions –"

"I knew that. How do _you_ know that?" Sherlock interrupted, slightly shocked at his friend's knowledge.

"Pub quiz," John admitted, carrying on with the list. "Wow, a lot of conditions stemmed from that. He was later diagnosed with learning difficulties, schizophrenia, bipolar, depression and epilepsy. Some of those will have come from the death of his father as well, though. He also almost obliterated his right hand when he shot himself and the left was burned a few weeks later after he was camping out and the campfire went out of control."

"That makes sense," Alex conceived. "You said he was wearing leather gloves, possibly he always wore them to hide scars as well as evidence."

Sherlock minimized the medical records and brought up the social services folders on Darren.

"Okay, if that's not voodoo, I don't know what is," Alex said seriously. "Social services don't even keep records from that long ago."

Sherlock shrugged, "Mycroft should keep a tighter rein on his new software. Here, it says Darren wasn't put up for foster care or adoption and moved out when he was seventeen. There's no record of him moving house after that. The address is something Hawthorne Terrace on the Fairborn estate. Shouldn't take too long to find him."

* * *

><p>Once they had gotten to the estate, they had split up, John taking the south side, Sherlock the north and east, and Alex and Chuck the west. Sherlock hadn't been too happy about Alex bringing the spaniel along, but reluctantly agreed after she pointed out that he might chew experiments if he was left alone.<p>

They met back up an hour and a half later at the war memorial in the middle of the estate.

"Okay, what did you find, then?" Sherlock asked, starting at John.

"Well according to the old lady across the road, she's never seen him in her life and she's lived here since she was a child. Another said they saw a man once that they didn't recognise with his hood over his face but they never saw him again. You?"

"I went to the post office and the landlord lives there," Sherlock began. "She said he always pays his rent by cash and shoves it through the letter box. Apparently she's never seen his face. He sounds like quite the recluse, doesn't he? Alex, what've you got?"

Alex beamed down proudly at Chuck, "Well this little fella was quite a catch with the woman at the corner shop. I just casually asked about Darren Howell and apparently, in all the years he's lived here, he's only ever bought a meter key for the electricity once. Apparently everyone thinks he's Amish but by chance I saw a vicar about to head into the church and I asked him about Darren, and he said he had no idea who he was."

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin again, "The landlord told me his address was 82. Others were available but he waited an extra few months to get 82. The year his father died and he attempted suicide. He seems quite sentimental… We need to go to Chatsworth Carehome."

"What?" John frowned. "But you have his address, why don't we –? You've already been and he wasn't there, haven't you?"

Sherlock neglected to answer, turning up his coat collar.

John groaned in unison with Alex, "Why are you always so bloody reckless?"

"And tell _me _off when I am," Alex added.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes as he stopped a cab.

"Coming?"

John climbed in after him, but Alex stayed on the pavement. He gave her a questioning look.

"I'm going back to the farmhouse; something isn't sitting right with me about this."

Sherlock caught her sleeve as she turned to hail another cab.

"You're not going there now, it's dark and in case you've forgotten, that farm's the epicentre of two murders. You're staying with us," Sherlock ordered, leaving little room for argument.

Little room, not _no _room.

"I'll be fine, Sherlock. Lestrade and his team will still be up there and the murderer is unlikely to go back, is he? And I have Chuck."

"I don't care, you're not going there."

Anger bubbled up in Alex's throat, "I managed before on my own, didn't I? And that time I had a knife sticking in me, no idea where I was going, and not knowing if I'd ever make it home."

Sherlock tried unsuccessfully not to flinch at the image that put in his head. His niece, scared, lost, alone, and bleeding.

Alex's anger subsided as she realised what she had said, "Look, I'm sorry. But I haven't been out of your sight for weeks; I just need a little space. If I'm up at the farmhouse, I can be brushing up on my deduction skills, and Lestrade will be there the entire time."

Looking like his better judgement was screaming otherwise, Sherlock reluctantly nodded, handing her his phone.

"I want to know when you get there, when you leave and if you find anything or feel unsafe. Your instincts are usually accurate. Listen to them," Sherlock told her sternly.

Alex nodded seriously, trying not to smile.

Sherlock regarded her for a moment before slipping back into the taxi beside John, telling the taxi driver the address. The cab rolled away, Alex waving slightly before hailing her own. It was the first time she had been away from Sherlock for – as she said – weeks. The furthest away she'd been was 221A whilst her uncle was in 221B.

She told the cabbie – who was surprisingly fine with having Chuck in the back – where she wanted to go and leaned back. Of course she loved Sherlock, that went without saying, and the fact that he was always there made her feel safe and reassured. But God, it felt so liberating to be alone again – excluding Chuck by her side. Solving little parts of cases on her own.

It was with a pang that she remembered the lithium case. With Logan. Her Logan. Her sweet, innocent, fiercely protective Logan. She missed him. She missed feeling his arms around her and the giddy rush she used to get when they would sneak past Sherlock up to her room.

But it had been a lie. She had to remember that. It had all been a lie. He was a murderer. She shouldn't feel like that anymore. So why on Earth was she slipping Sherlock's phone out of her pocket? And why in the name of God was she punching in his number. And why for all that is sane in the world… was she bringing it to her ear and whispering one sentence when it connected.

"The wood behind Brandyhill farm. Be there in five minutes. Come alone."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Lyriel, emilybrock101, vivien gorner, Rose Sargent, kie1993, Aisha Firth, FlewandFlied, OnceUponADeduction, rycbar15, Owl Indigo, and Crossing the Galaxy 22 for reviewing!<strong>

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**Abby**

**X**


	73. The Pronged Puppeteer - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry about the longer than normal wait but one of my family has taken ill and that's took priority. Updates should be regular still, but that depends on the situation. I won't leave you longer than a week though, that's my pledge! To make up for it, this is an extra long chapter :D**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_But it had been a lie. She had to remember that. It had all been a lie. She shouldn't feel like that anymore. So why on Earth was she slipping Sherlock's phone out of her pocket? And why in the name of God was she punching in his number. And why for all that is sane in the world… was she bringing it to her ear and whispering one sentence when it connected._

_"The wood behind Brandyhill farm. Be there in five minutes. Come alone."_

When Alex got to the farm, she tethered Chuck up to the post, and skirted past Lestrade and his team unnoticed. It was too easy considering her size.

Darkness provided a great cover, but also gave the place an even more eerie feel to it. Considering the fact that two extremely gruesome and sadistic murders had taken place just the previous day, just added to the spookiness. It made Alex's skin prickle uncomfortably, but it was not a foreign feeling to the girl.

The wood belonged to the farm and was a considerable size and was surrounded by a dead electric fence to keep sheep and cattle from straying inside. She awkwardly hobbled over the rusting gate to it and entered the mass of trees. The canopy of leaves made it even darker and unnervingly reminded her of her time in the woods when they had escaped the funhouse.

She walked for five minutes until she came to a small clearing. A tiny, almost inaudible whimper escaped her lips as she saw Logan sat on a tree stump watching her silently. His eyes lit up once she came into view and he hurried to his feet over to her. But he stopped. So did she.

An awkward pause descended.

"You look better," Logan commented with a small smile.

Alex nodded, keeping her face neutral.

"I wish I could say the same about you."

It was true, not just a childish insult. He looked worn and rugged, small dots of stubble visible on his face. Dark circles were under his eyes and his veins were prominent in his under his pale skin of his wrist and neck.

"Why did you ring me?" Logan asked carefully.

Ah, that was a very good question.

"I… uh… I just," _come on, Alex, think. You were the one who wanted to see him! _"We have a case and I was checking to see if your lot had anything to do with it."

Logan winced at 'your lot', "_They _have nothing to do with it. Nor do I… What's happened?"

"A man found stringed up like a puppet with his mentally unstable murderer on the loose," Alex responded automatically.

Logan hummed, "Sounds fun."

Alex bit her lip, the sound of his voice too rich and familiar for her not to feel the flutter in her chest. Her mouth moved but no words came out, because she was unable to form them. They froze in her throat and were a counteractive balance to the hate that she wanted to feel for him. But she couldn't.

"You look like hell," she settled on, gesturing to his face.

Logan grimaced, running a hand over his eyes, "You have no idea. At least you've had a good doctor looking after you."

"You had your family, I'm sure they could bully someone into taking care of you," Alex quipped, pausing for a moment before proceeding hesitantly, she had to be so careful.

He flinched again; his eyes brimmed with self-loathing as his face twisted up in contempt. He looked like a lost, bruised pup. But Alex had to remember who had trained him. And the fact that he'd had _plenty _of practice in the art of deceit.

"That's the only care I'd get," he mumbled. "I just wish things were…" he struggled to find the right word, his lip balanced between his teeth before he decided on, "_different."_

Alex had to admit, if he was lying, he deserved some sort of award. Hell, after all these years, screw _some _award, he deserved a bloody Oscar.

"Look, Logan, I know about your abilities now, you could give Loki the God of Lies a run for his money so just for once, tell me the truth. If what you're saying and your bleeding heart routine is just a ploy to get me to forgive you; you can give up now because there's no way I will... But do you really want out?"

Logan met her eyes with his own steely glint, his face forcibly innocent, "I do. I don't want to be a murderer, Alex. I swear, I didn't understand what I was doing until it was too late. Please believe me."

At his pleading tone, she scoffed, "Yeah, because I did a great job of believing you for twelve years and look how that ended up."

He pursed his lips, shaking his head in disbelief. A humourless smirk slipped onto his features.

"If this was just another opportunity to have a jab at me, I'm gone," Logan said in annoyance.

Alex swallowed the retort on her tongue and forced herself to calm down.

"I'm sorry. No, I'm not sorry but… Look, I will never love you the way I did, or even be friends. Even if you're telling the truth now, there's been too much lying and deceit for so long that we'd have to start from scratch and even then there's always the possibility that your family will brew up a hurricane and whip you away again. But you already knew that. The reason why I called you," she took a deep breath. "Is because I want to help you. If you need to get out, I can help."

Logan's eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly, "You-you mean it? How can you get me away from them? Everywhere I go, they send their people out to fetch me. They won't be satisfied until I serve my purpose as one of their lapdogs. Look."

He rolled up his sleeve to reveal ten little round burn marks on his forearm. Alex recognised them immediately as cigarette burns. She resisted the urge to wince at the sight of them, knowing she needed to maintain a strong persona if she was to remain in control. It wasn't that hard, she'd been keeping it up for days.

"Please, I'll do anything and I don't care how desperate I sound here. Just… I can't let them… I can't let _myself… _I don't want to be a murderer Alex. I know I already I am," his voice wavered. "But I was doing that to keep us safe. I can't kill in cold blood. If there's a chance you can get me away, I'll take it, whatever it is."

"How do I know you mean it? Swear on something that matters that you aren't just playing a family game."

Logan's brow furrowed as he tried to think of something that held importance to him. Alex's gut churned painfully as she saw him struggle. Surely he could find _something_…

"April," he finally said. "I swear on April's life."

Alex's eyes narrowed, "You realise now that if you break that promise, I will hunt you down and murder you in a way that makes Mr Punch over there seem tame?"

Logan nodded, scratching his neck nervously, "So how can you help me? Can your uncles do something?"

"This is the plan and if you don't agree, there isn't another option so you'll be home in time for breakfast at the loony household. Okay, tonight I'll go to my Uncle Mycroft's and get onto your records from his computer. I'll change your date of birth so it says you're 18 and contact a landlord up north somewhere or as far away as I can find without leaving the country. I'll transfer some money into your account so you can pay for the deposit and the first few months, then you get a job and start a new life. Then I'll get Anthea in on it and she knows how to make your account untraceable. You don't contact anyone if you don't want to be found. That means no talking to your mother or sisters or friends here in London. You'll be starting completely from scratch," Alex finished, keeping her voice emotionless, scrutinising him closely.

A wide range of emotions flashed over Logan's face. Shock, happiness, relief… fear. Alex understood completely. Starting a new life meant forgetting about everyone you care about. Not that Logan thought much of his mother and sisters but he had still grown up around them. She had – albeit _badly_ – raised him.

With a painful swallow, Logan nodded.

"Okay. I need to take another look around this farmhouse. Go to Baker Street and wait in my room. No snooping or the deal's off. And I'll know if you have. I'll be back when I'm back and I'll come with you to the train station as soon as the transaction's gone through."

"Thank you," his voice was raw and cracked. He was obviously terrified. "It's better than the alternative. You don't understand how much this means to me."

Alex ignored his – in her opinion – pathetic prattling, "Go the back way to Baker Street, there are less cameras."

Flinching at her cold tone, Logan nodded again and took off into the trees, no doubt finding the other side and climbing out from there.

Alex fell down to the tree stump he had been sat on and rubbed a hand over her face. Her leg was sore and she rested it atop a thick root, giving it some relief. Her head was so heavy on her shoulders, her eyes almost slipping shut… No. She couldn't go to sleep.

How could she possibly go to sleep? She could still see Logan's outline in front of her, though she knew it was absurd, he was gone. Gone. He would be gone for good. And it was for the better, she knew. She had her entire life ahead of her, she had all she needed. She could be content with the knowledge that he was safe, and they could both exist apart.

Oh, she was so tired.

_Alex, don't you dare fall asleep. You know they won't be able to find you and Sherlock will have a fit, John will go all doctor-y, Lestrade will stop you from going to crime scenes, Donovan will mock, Anderson will sneer, Mycroft will…_

But if she just closed her itching eyes for a moment…

* * *

><p>John cringed at Sherlock's overdramatic entrance to the deadly silent porch of the care home, thrusting himself upon the place like a prince in all his coat-swishing glory.<p>

"Prat," John hummed under his breath.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at his friend before knocking loudly on the reception door. His hand was tapping an infuriatingly fast and irregular rhythm on his thigh and his mouth was twitching in agitation. All the signs of him being his usual impatient self.

The door opened slightly, enough to allow the woman behind it to peek out with one sleep-ridden, unfocussed eye.

"Yes?" she asked not unkindly, almost wearily, as if she was used to people knocking at all hours of the night.

"I'm Detective Inspector Lestrade and this is my assistant Mr Watson. We're here about a murder enquiry," Sherlock responded professionally, ignoring John's glare at 'assistant' as he flicked up the stolen ID.

The woman's sluggish features immediately sharpened, bolting to attention as she slipped the chain off the door and opened it widely.

She looked to be in her late fifties – but that was no indication since she _did _work with children and both men could imagine it aging someone an extra fifteen years – and had blonde hair perched atop her head. Her eyes were kind but held a sternness that demanded respect. That and her pinched features could make her a strict carer indeed.

"Oh, Lord! Come on in, come on in," she flustered, ushering them into the sitting room. "Sit down, please."

Sherlock and John perched themselves awkwardly on the edge of the paint-stained couch she had motioned to.

"Can I get you and Mr Watson anything?" she asked, looking at Sherlock expectantly.

"Doctor," John muttered lowly.

Her hand went to his shoulder immediately, "You need one?"

"No, no, I _am _one."

"Oh, erm, sorry," she pulled away from him embarrassedly. "I'll just… bring in some tea to wake us up."

She ducked out of the room and set about making beverages for them, patting her cheeks to rid herself of the blush staining them.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, "Oh, don't let me taint your ego, _Doctor _Watson."

John scoffed, "You're a one to talk. Y'know, one day, I'll be the Detective Inspector and _you _can be the bumbling assistant."

"But you play the part so well."

John decided to be the bigger man and refrained from retorting, just glaring. Sherlock's lip quirked up in a smug grin as he laid back against the couch, causing a splodge of paint to stain the fabric of his coat. He huffed and eyed it with disgust but didn't make any effort to remove it, knowing it would only smudge. Why children felt the need to deface furniture, Sherlock would never fathom. Alex was never like that. The extent of her defacing stretched to writing on his scarf when she was a toddler.

The woman returned with a tray of tea and took a seat opposite them. John took his cup with a grateful smile but Sherlock didn't make any movement towards his. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and began his questioning.

"We're here enquire about a boy who lived here thirty-two years ago –"

The woman interrupted him with a laugh, making him scowl, "I know I may look older, dear, but I assure you I was just a child at that time."

"Then is there anyone else here that we can ask?" he spoke deliberately through gritted teeth, the woman already irking him.

"Ooh, my mother!" she exclaimed, before clamping a hand to her mouth and speaking quieter so as not to wake the sleeping children. "I work with my mother; she's worked here since I can remember. She's the councillor here, I'll go get her."

It was another five minutes of silence before an aging woman came into the room, rubbing remnants of sleep from her wrinkled, heavy eyes.

"We're sorry for waking you," John apologised before Sherlock could get a word in. "I'm Doctor Watson and this is DI Lestrade."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, a kind - though tired - smile playing on her lips, "Audrey Sanders. I believe you've met my daughter, Sally."

Forgetting pleasantries – they'd wasted too much time already – Sherlock dived straight in.

"Mrs Sanders, do you remember a boy thirty-two years ago called Darren Howell?"

Taken aback slightly by the man's straightforwardness, the woman's face screwed up as she tried to place the name.

"It… sounds familiar," she said with a distant look about her.

"His father was killed in an accident, Darren tried to commit suicide," Sherlock prompted her.

"Ah yes," she replied, a dark look settling over her features. "A terrible case that. I'll never forget little Darren. Poor, poor boy."

"Yes, poor Darren," Sherlock said sarcastically, causing John to subtly give him a warning nudge. "We have reason to believe that he is at the heart of a vicious murder, I need you to tell me everything you remember about him, and now."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, counting to ten. He really thought Sherlock was getting better at the whole not-putting-things-so-bluntly-it-sends-them-into-shock. Evidently not.

Mrs Sanders stared back at them, her mouth gaping in shock.

"N-no… I don't believe it..." she put a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.

"Yes, yes, not-so-poor-Darren," Sherlock said, his tone clipped. "We're over that, aren't we? Good," Sherlock continued before the woman could respond. "So tell me what he was like."

Audrey coughed and composed herself to the best of her ability.

"Well… he was in a terrible state when he came here, especially after the suicide attempt. He was diagnosed with all sorts –"

"We know, I don't want you to tell me about his list of ailments because I can acquire them in a manner much easier and less annoying way than this. I need you to tell me about his personality. What was his favourite hobby? His best friend? Details!"

The woman bristled at his tone but dared not defy him, the Detective Inspector badge conveniently still protruding from the top of his pocket.

"I counselled him, saw him every week. He was always the same, shy, reserved. He was like that for months, but then he started acting out, got himself arrested for stealing. He never had many friends, but those he did have, began to shrink away from him. He got violent and uncontrollable so I confronted him about it one day and he said he felt guilty for his father's death. He said he couldn't cope…"

Seeing Audrey begin to falter, John spurred her on.

"What did you say back to him?" he asked softly.

Audrey glanced up at him fleetingly, his gentleness a welcome change from the brash voice of the other man.

"I told him to stop thinking it was his fault, that there were other factors involved in making him late that day, and making his father step out into the road. He understood what I was saying and told me that he blamed the puppets," understanding flashed across Sherlock and John's faces. "Obviously I had no idea what he was talking about and with his mental problems, it was mostly better to just go along with it. It made him feel better. He stopped being so violent, but he still didn't have many friends."

"When you say 'many friends'," Sherlock interjected. "How many do you mean?"

"Only one. I can't remember his name. A sweet boy, I remember. He was a couple years older than Darren. He sort of took him under his wing as a brother. They went out to the woods together, used to come back filthy they did," she smiled reminiscently before shaking her head, remembering what he was being accused of.

"Which woods did they used to go to? How far from here? Why did they go there?" Sherlock demanded harshly.

"Th-Thornton Woods," the woman stuttered a little under his stern gaze. "It's about five miles from here, they used to go on their bikes. Darren's father used to own a hunting lodge there."

A hungry gleam suddenly sprang into Sherlock's eyes as he leapt from the couch, pulling John along with him.

"Thank you, Mrs Sanders!" he called from the porch as he ran out onto the driveway. "You've been most helpful!"

* * *

><p>Alex awoke four hours later with a start. The first thing she realised was how different the wood looked. The trees looked different and she couldn't remember it being this big. Rays of sunlight protruded through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating everything in a crisp, morning glow.<p>

_Weird, it wasn't light a few minutes ago, it was two o'clock in the mor… oh no. _

Bolting up, black spots invaded Alex's vision as blood rushed to her head. Blinking rapidly, they cleared to allow her to look at the watch around her wrist.

_6:45_

Alex cursed under her breath and checked Sherlock's phone, the bitter taste of panic in her mouth. He was never going to let her go off now. Bound for a lifetime of-

_No missed calls._

The sigh of relief that was puffed from the girl in that moment was laughable. Sherlock must have gotten caught up at the carehome.

Running her fingers through her hair in a bid to make it slightly more presentable – so as to not look like she had just fell asleep on a muddy tree stump – and straightening her clothes, Alex was about to make her way back to the farmhouse when her foot slipped on something, sending her sliding onto her back. And a crack to be heard as Sherlock's mobile smashed.

"Oh, for the love of…" she cursed again, pulling herself up and assessing the phone damage. "What did I do in a previous life? I'm pretty sure I must've committed genocide."

_Runs in the family then, _her conscience sneered.

"Shut up, I'm trying to be witty," she replied wearily, her mind too boggled from sleep to realise how crazy she was acting.

Shrugging her jacket back on for the second time in under a minute, Alex was about to climb over the fence when she cast a look to the floor. She had thought she had just slipped on a root or some wet leaves. But it was a letter.

The disorientation of sleep was immediately banished as Alex plucked up the letter. It was still in the envelope, unopened. It was stained with mud, and something else. Something that _rhymed_ with mud.

Her eyes now wide and alert, Alex looked around the spot that she had been sleeping and bent down to ground-level. She could make out her own tracks, and with a sinking feeling made out Logan's. Then with a jolt, found _his. _If suspicions were correct, Darren Howell's.

They led up from the farmhouse, parallel to Alex's, and squashed in the mud up to the tree stump. Sure enough, a small patch of blood rested on the wood. It could easily have been mistaken for a discoloured knot, but unless Alex hit her head in her sleep, it was definitely Arnold's bloodstain.

But it wasn't the stain that had her heart thundering madly, her gaze was focussed slightly behind it. To a thick oak tree with a crude engraving in the wood.

TIME FOR JUDY

"Shit," Alex muttered.

Judy? Who could possibly be Judy? Harrison's partner in the puppet show? How was she meant to find her?

Turning back to the letter in her hand, Alex slipped off her jacket and placed the envelope gently over the top of it, understanding that she was dealing with vital evidence. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that this letter was the reason the postman was killed.

Though, it was strange. If it was so important, why hadn't he opened it? That suggested he got what he wanted, so the information must've been on the front.

Alex frowned as she read the name of the person it was addressed to.

_Julie Howell _

_Brandyhill Farm_

"Oh no," Alex breathed.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind that this Julie woman was Arnold's wife – 'Judy'. And by the looks of things, she was about to suffer much the same fate. But why would the murderer need to know her name? He could just wait for her to come home and kill her like he killed the others.

"Unless she didn't live there anymore, unless she didn't _come home_…" Alex murmured.

Without any more hesitation, Alex ran as fast as her leg would allow her down the dirt track, narrowly avoiding roots and prickly brambles as she awkwardly manoeuvred herself over the fence and took off to the house. As she got into the yard, she was extremely relieved to see Lestrade leaning against his car with a cardboard cup of coffee in his hands. He had the day shift.

She skidded to a stop in front of him, by now favouring her good leg. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw her, almost dropping his beverage.

"Alex! What're you doing here? Where're Sherlock and John?" Lestrade asked, his brow furrowing.

"Doesn't… matter…" she panted, holding out the letter. "Harrison… has a wife… she's next."

Lestrade immediately put down his cup and vigilantly took the jacket-wrapped envelope. His eyes raked over it, flickering back up to Alex briefly.

"Are you sure? Where did you find this?"

"Not completely sure. But I will be. Tell your team to search the wood," Alex replied evasively as she edged toward the door to the house.

Lestrade caught her arm, "What's going on, Alex? Have you come out here alone?"

She could see him taking in her muddied clothes, and tousled hair. Resisting the urge to rant, Alex bit her tongue, knowing that it would bring nothing but a speech about how everyone's just _concerned._ She didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but she really just wanted to forget about what happened, people constantly asking her if she was okay wasn't helping.

"I'm fine," she answered tersely. "And yes, I was here alone, but I got clearance from the parole board, AKA Uncle Sherlock."

Lestrade nodded once, giving her a small smile that Alex felt obliged to return, before handing the letter to one of his officers and muttering instructions to them.

In the hum of conversation, Alex slipped into the house door and stepped back into the kitchen. She immediately made her way over to the bedroom, forcing her eyes away from the bloodstain on the carpet in the hallway.

The room was small and sparsely furnished with only a double bed, wardrobe, and a smudged mirror within its walls. Alex made a beeline for the bed and threw back the covers. As she had expected, only one side had been slept in recently. The other hadn't been touched for a good few months. It was strange how people favoured different sides of the bed. Strange, but beneficial.

Already proven correct but doing so anyway, Alex opened the wardrobe doors and observed with a grim smile that only men's farming clothes were hanging there, collecting dust. Never worn again. But her point was, no woman's clothes.

Swallowing the tiny nick in her throat, she pulled herself together and forced herself to think rationally.

Her suspicions were right; Mr and Mrs Harrison had been recently divorced. That's why some of her mail had been delivered to her old address. The town would have known this lovely piece of gossip, Howell included and so he had to find her somehow. Howell must've noticed the letter when he took the post. That's why he had to kill the postman, he was a witness.

He then took the letter up to the woods when he heard the cattleman pull up. That's when he did the engraving and memorised the name.

"Okay," Alex murmured aloud to herself. "You're a murderer with the name of your next victim, but no address, where do you go?"

Online to look her up, of course, that was obvious. Apart from the fact that the woman at the post office said that Howell hadn't bought a key for the meter for years. He had literally no electricity at all, so how and where would he go?

If his archaic behaviour was anything to go by, Alex would bet the library to use the computers there.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was about to hail the cab trundling up the road when John's stolen mobile vibrated in his pocket. He frowned at the unfamiliar caller ID and, for once, answered it, ignoring the indignant tut of John having realised he had stolen his phone.<p>

"Hello?"

_"Sherlock, it's me –"_

"Where are you ringing me from? What's wrong with my mobile I gave you?" he frowned even deeper, his tone daring her to say something had happened to it.

_"Oh that doesn't matter; you can get a new one. I'm at the local library." _

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the offhand manner of which she spoke about breaking his phone but allowed her to continue.

_"Where are you?"_

"Outside the carehome, we have a lead to –"

_"Forget about your lead for a minute, you two need to get yourselves over to 8 Hampton Yard and pronto. A woman's life's at stake."_

Sherlock's eyes widened as he hailed a cab, almost stepping into the middle of the road.

"We're on our way, stay where you are."

He barely heard his niece scoff before he disconnected the call as John slipped into the cab. Sherlock reiterated the address to him and gave him an extra twenty pounds to go as fast as he could.

John's face was grim as he said, "Another?"

"Potentially, yes."


	74. The Pronged Puppeteer - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello, I hope everyone's week was good. I had two teeth taken out yey! One day I won't use this site as an excuse to vent, sorry. In other news, this is the longest chapter yet! I think, anyway. I've also had to upload this chapter twice because of the words turning into numbers and brackets - anyone else have this problem?**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Sherlock's eyes widened as he hailed a cab, almost stepping into the middle of the road._

_"We're on our way, stay where you are."_

_He barely heard his niece scoff before he disconnected the call as John slipped into the cab. Sherlock reiterated the address to him and gave him an extra twenty pounds to go as fast as he could._

_John's face was grim as he said, "Another?"_

_"Another."_

Alex climbed out of the cab and searched frantically for Sherlock and John, but they mustn't have arrived yet. The house was situated in the middle of a quiet, sleepy estate with perfectly trimmed lawns and modest hanging baskets, the last place you would expect a murder. But then, most murderers don't really give a damn about the topiary.

Realising there was no time to waste, Alex ran up to the front door of Julie Harrison's house and pounded the glass door loudly, flicking open the letterbox and yelling,

"Mrs Harrison? Please open the door! Please, it's important, you need to open the door!" she waited a few seconds but still got no reply. "If you don't open up now, I'll have to break in and I really don't want to do that!"

When there was still silence, Alex's stomach flipped. What if she was too late? And how on Earth was she meant to kick a door in with a weak leg and a recovering wound on her torso?

However, before she could attempt breaking in, her hand accidently grazed the handle, and it opened slightly. Frowning, Alex stepped into the house, balling her hands into clenched fists. Again, not that much use against a murderer.

"Julie?" Alex called in a tremulous, restrained voice. "My name's Alex, I'm here to help you. I know you don't know me but I need you to come with me."

The doorway led straight into one room, and Alex walked into the living room, light on her feet and holding her breath.

A small wooden coffee table was in the middle of the room, surrounded by a sofa and an armchair. An artificial flame was flickering in the electronic fireplace, bathing everything in a bright orange glow. Dark clouds had gathered outside and great spots of rain pelted the windows, the only sound echoing around the dimly lit bungalow.

The thing that struck Alex as strange, was the fact that there was a sponge cake in the middle of the table with a slice cut out, but there was no knife.

Quickening her pace to the adjoining kitchen, Alex noticed the mugs, half filled with coffee. Mug_s_. Someone else had been there. Dipping her finger into the liquid, Alex quickly winced and retracted it. Freshly boiled. Scrap her earlier observation, someone else was _still _there.

That was when Alex noticed the blood. It made her want to scream in frustration until her throat went hoarse, to pick up the stupid mugs and hurl them across the room. She had been too late.

"Alex?" a voice shouted, pushing through the already open door.

Alex didn't need to look to know that it was her uncle.

"In here, Sherlock," Alex replied monotonously.

"I thought I told you to stay where you were," Sherlock grumbled, entering the living room, John close behind him. "Where's the woman?"

Alex pointed to the blood on the dark brown carpet. It was difficult to see, but not impossible.

"Oh, Jesus," John murmured, moving over to Alex. "How long have you been here?"

"Only about five minutes. I thought Howell might still be here, but he obviously left after he finished," Alex's top lip curled in anger.

"You really should've waited. If you'd got here just a few minutes earlier, he might still have been here, and where would that have left you?" John chastised as Sherlock knelt next to the blood.

Alex exhaled slowly and purposefully, having the sense to look humbled at least.

"Anyway, who lives here? How did you know she was next on the list?"

"Julie Harrison, Mr Harrison's ex-wife. He was Punch, she was Judy. He scratched her name into a tree in the wood and took a letter. That's why the postman was killed," Alex explained quietly as she watched her uncle.

Sherlock was listening as he bent on all-fours, following the trail for a few strides until it led under the door to another room. He straightened up, slowly pushing the door open. A harsh light flooded out, blinding Sherlock for a moment before Alex and John came to stand next to him. Shielding his eyes from the brightness of the naked bulbs, he realised that it was a bathroom.

A very blood-stained bathroom. So blood-stained that Alex began to feel nauseous, even after spending most of her childhood in a morgue. John just looked on with a grimly familiar face, the sight a common one during his time in Afghanistan. Yet, those had been fit young men who had been trained; this was a defenceless old lady.

Sherlock stood, watching the scene pensively.

The white tiles bore the brunt of the gore, smudge marks clear from where her body had been dragged through it. Julie was in the bath, her lifeless hand hanging limply over the side of the tub. She had been stripped of her clothes and placed in so that her head was resting on the slope of the bath, as if she were just enjoying a soak.

If only her eyes hadn't been staring glassily straight ahead, unfocussed on anything, she might as well have been.

The water was completely scarlet, like she was bathing in runny jam instead of water.

Alex could smell it. The raw smell of blood. She hadn't smelt it before with the postman or Mr Harrison, those had been out in the air, the smell of manure and farm overriding it. But here, with the steam drawing it out like poison from a wound, it just made Alex remember.

_Blood. Straw battering her face as she ran. Moran was behind her. Getting closer. She was stumbling up multi-coloured steps. Little steps. Loud steps. Getting closer. Water. Steam. Pain. Fear. Closing in. Getting closer. Past her neck. Up to her chin. Over her eyes. She needed to breathe. She had to breathe. Getting closer. Getting closer. Closer. Closer. Closer. CLOSER-_

Alex opened her mouth to take a large lungful of oxygen, but she began to choke. The air was thick and wet, water gushing down her throat, strangling her.

Barely aware of the grip John had on her shoulder, Alex backed away from the doorway of the bathroom and turned on her heel, sprinting out of the door and bending over double on the lawn, her shaking hands trembling on her knees as she coughed.

She panted noisily, her chest convulsing with every shuddering breath.

She could still feel the glass case around her, the drone of the machine as it pumped more icy water into the little space she had left. Subconsciously, Alex glanced down at her healing fingernail, remembering all too vividly the moment that she had ripped it from her skin. The howl of pain still rang in her ears. They had been cruel. They had been so cruel.

Her shirt was almost soaked through from the rain; droplets clinging onto her eyelashes like the tears she wanted to shed, but knew she couldn't. Not until she was alone.

"It's unfortunate that the brain remembers pain more than other emotions."

Sherlock's voice was like an anchor, pulling her back to reality. She took a deep breath, thankful that it didn't bring on another coughing bout, and tilted her head upwards, allowing the rain to streak over her face. It splashed over her flushed cheeks.

Her uncle didn't touch her, he just watched, analysing her movements as she composed herself. Only then did he grasp her forearm carefully, as if scared she would break.

"We have to go. We know where Howell is and we need to find him, but you'll have to come with us. I don't want you going back to Baker Street alone when you're like this. We'll be an hour, tops, then we can go back home and you can do whatever you want, okay?" he said slowly with a ghost of a reassuring smile.

Alex swallowed and licked her lips, pulling from his grip and running her hands over her arms self-consciously as she nodded.

"Good," he praised under his breath.

But she was already out of earshot and at the curb's edge, managing to keep the taxi that had dropped Sherlock and John off. She climbed in and took the seat closest to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass.

John followed straight after, Sherlock bringing up the rear, shooting Alex worried glances as he did so.

"Where you wanna go, mate?" the cabbie asked.

"Thornton Woods," Sherlock said, handing over a tenner.

* * *

><p>It was so dark for just after midday. The early December bite was in the air, and John had commented on the way over how he thought snow would soon be falling. Alex hoped for a white Christmas, and the days leading up to it. However, as they stood on the fringe of Thornton Woods, Christmas couldn't seem further away.<p>

Not caring about the 'strong persona' she had to felt she had to uphold, Alex caved in and grabbed Sherlock's hand as they entered the trees along the path. He glimpsed down at her in surprise but squeezed her hand slightly in reassurance.

"What's that?" John muttered as they rounded a corner, leading the way.

Alex heard the squeaking before she saw the bicycle. It was rusted and old, and laid on its side, the wheel screeching softly as it turned in the wind. It was in the middle of the path, obviously just been put there but been in that state for decades.

"This is suddenly like something from a really scary horror film," Alex murmured, eyeing the bike carefully as they stepped around it.

Eerie didn't cover it.

How John was so calm and collected as he walked in front, Alex didn't understand. But she did feel a surge of respect for the man. She supposed Sherlock would be powering ahead with him if he hadn't been holding Alex's hand like she was a toddler.

_Honestly, Alex, grow up!_

Once again, she found herself not caring. She could deal with bodies and murders (usually), but it was a different story with things like this. Scary woods, dark surroundings in the middle of the day, a whining old bicycle. It was all a bit too Stephen King for her. She had always had a vivid imagination, and this was one of the worst places she could be to fuel her mind's flashes of ghosts and ghouls and knives shimmering in the dark.

Caught up in her internal ramblings, Alex lost her footing on a root and stumbled, causing Sherlock to give a long-suffering sigh and pull her back up.

"Stop scaring yourself and watch where you're going," he said, shaking his head at her.

"Sherlock," John's whisper cutting off Alex's sheepish reply. "Up here."

They caught up, taking a few silent strides, Alex's heart hammering in her chest. They stood at a brow in the ground, hunched over slightly as John needlessly pointed to a small, crumbling log cabin almost hidden by the undergrowth. A small light flickered in the window, and a dark silhouette crossed the opening, moving slowly and humming something.

_"Oranges and lemons_

_Say the bells of St Clemens,"_

"Why is he singing Oranges and Lemons?" Alex whispered.

She felt Sherlock shrug next to her as they continued to listen.

_"You owe me five farthings_

_Say the bells of St Martins,"_

Sherlock nodded once to John, tugging Alex along behind him as they descended down the slope and stealthily crept to the back of the lodge, slipping up the latch on the door.

_"When will you pay me?_

_Say the bells of Old Bailey,"_

The door opened quietly, Sherlock's eye fitting through the gap. Howell's back was to them, facing the fire and still singing.

_"When I grow rich_

_Say the bells of Shoreditch,_

_When will that be?_

_Say the bells of Stepney,_

_I do not know_

_Says the great bell of Bow,"_

As Sherlock opened the door fully, letting Alex and John creep in, unbeknownst to the oblivious Howell. However, his chanting speeded up, what was once soft singing now a mantra, spitting out every syllable.

_"Here comes a candle to light you to bed_

_And here comes a chopper_

_To chop off your head!_

_Chip, chop, chip, chop_

_The last one is dead!"_

As he uttered the last word, Howell spun violently, nailing the three with an unfocussed gaze.

"Who said you could come here?" he asked, getting to his feet, confusion oozing from him.

"We know what you've done, Howell," Sherlock droned in a bored tone, refusing to be intimidated. "You might as well give up; the police are on their way."

"You coming to take me away, ha-ha, he-he," he sang, a bright smile breaking out on his face, the lines on his forehead immediately disappearing.

His mental state was definitely something to be desired.

He chuckled gaily to himself, "Look at you three… all happy. You shouldn't be, you know. You've done bad things," his voice wavered. "You-you've _killed _people… Oh wait, that's me, isn't it? I did that…"

His smile disappeared, now settling on a blank, sort of, vacancy. It was like watching erratic weather.

Howell motioned around the room with his hand, pointing to the walls.

"D'you like them? I was always told at school that they were too scary. That I should _talk to someone_. They always want to _talk _don't they? I prefer not to. You can just let your guard down. You don't have to worry about if you slip up," he smiled reminiscently at the walls.

Plastered so that the wallpaper behind could barely be seen, were hundreds of drawings, ranging from the wayward scrawl of a child to the precise detail of a professional. All shared a common theme. Puppets. Puppets with terribly mangled features participating in explicit acts of violence usually against a man with his hands over his face. Weeping.

"You're quite the artist, Mr Howell," Sherlock commented. "I can see why your therapist remembers you."

Howell snapped his attention to the detective.

"She remembers me? She told you, didn't she? She snitched… I'll have to deal with her… I'll have to…" he trailed off, cradling his forehead in his hands like one of his drawings, a low groan emanating from him.

"You want to stop," Sherlock stated bluntly as he gingerly walked towards him. "That's why Mrs Harrison wasn't hanging – you panicked. You regretted it when you killed her, didn't you? But by then it was too late. Tell me what happened, Darren. Is Darren still there?" his tone was suddenly softer as he knelt beside him. "Where are you? Just tell me what happened, Darren. Just tell me, I won't tell anyone else. It's just you and me here."

Alex exchanged uneasy looks with John, and she could see his hand was gripping something tightly in his pocket as Howell began to speak through his trembling fingers.

"I know it s-sounds cliché, but I never meant for it to happen. I never meant to be home late from school, but the show was extended. I was with my friend," his voice cracked. "W-we looked at the time and I realised how late I was. I set off running… and… I saw…" his face crumpled slightly as his eyes somehow widened and sagged at the same time. "I saw him get hit. My dad. I couldn't move, I just stood there, staring. There wasn't anything I could do; it wasn't my fault he died. They told me that. It wasn't my fault," his voice raised hysterically. "It wasn't! It wasn't! It wasn't! It wasn't! I swear! I didn't mean to! Please! It wasn't!"

Alex gritted her teeth and joined Sherlock in trying to calm the man down. Her uncles firm ordering didn't seem to be doing any good as Howell began to shake and rock, sobbing.

"Hey," she hushed, trying to be gentle but after seeing the bodies of the ruthless murders he had just committed, she couldn't help the sharp edge to her voice, insane or not. "Listen, calm down. No-one blames you for your father's death, it was an accident. Shh."

She awkwardly rubbed his shoulder, trying not to flinch away as the same smell from earlier hit her. His clothes and skin were still stained. Everything was wrong, she was comforting a killer.

Finally, his sobs died down, but as soon as Alex went to move, they started back up again louder than ever. She eventually settled for having him in a half-hug, a look of disgust on her face and her limbs rigid, but a hug all the same.

John muttered something under his breath about the whereabouts of Lestrade and sent another quick text telling the DI to hurry up, before Howell began to talk again.

"A-after a while, things got better. A few years, anyway. I waited for a flat and moved in, and I stopped feeling guilty," a dopy smile appeared on his face. "Dad told me he forgave me. He told me _they _had done it. The puppets. Stupid Punch and stupid Judy."

Alex began to remove her arms from him warily as his tears dried up and his eyes turned venomous. As soon as she broke contact though, the vulnerable look came back and he turned to her desperately.

"No, please don't let go. Please don't let go of me," he begged.

"Okay, okay," Alex nodded, craning her neck to put some distance between them when his face almost pressed against hers.

"Come on, Darren, what happened next? What happened a few days ago?" Sherlock interrogated, choosing to ignore the interaction between him and his niece.

"I saw him, the Harrison fella. He was at the bottom of the lane, taking up some cows. I heard the music… the damn music. And I just knew," he smiled innocently, freakishly. "I knew I had to kill him. I followed him. Right up the path. He put the cows in the barn and went to his garden. It was so _easy_. The rake was next to him and I just picked it up and ran him through while he was tending to potatoes. Blood went all over the soil!"

"But you moved him. To the barn. Why did you do that?" John questioned, unnerved by the smiling.

His face sobered as he said seriously, "They told me to. Oh, you _have _to do something if _they _tell you to. Even if you don't want to do it. They showed me where the twine was. All I had to do was climb the ladder and hang him up. It was like putting up tinsel."

"And then you went in the kitchen," John continued, taking over from Sherlock as the detective frowned at his mobile, _where on Earth was Lestrade? _"And tried to get a drink until you heard the postman at the door. You killed him."

"He had something I wanted," his body tensed and Alex swallowed, her eyes widening very slightly in fear. He was now holding her. The change was subtle and she kept quiet. "The letter. I knew Harrison and his wife had divorced, everyone did, and the music said it wanted her too. I needed her full name, but by then I'd shown myself to the postman, so I had to get rid of him. The music did the rest."

"You skewered his face and made him watch the video recording," Alex whispered, not needing to speak normally as his ear was right next to her mouth.

He turned to her and grinned, "I know, really original."

"It isn't something to be proud of."

"Isn't it?"

His smile really beginning to get to her, Alex tried to pull away from him, but he held strong. Sherlock, seeing the predicament, grasped her by her forearm and pulled her to him, forcing Howell to let go. But not before taking a swipe.

Sherlock gave a hiss of pain and surprise as something sharp cut across his hand. In that second, John had his gun trained on Howell with a daring look on his face that clearly read 'don't even try, mate'.

Alex lifted Sherlock's hand and saw a two-inch scratch down the crease of his thumb. She glared at Howell.

"I-I'm sorry," he tried to apologise, looking confused and bewildered, as if he had just woken from a dream. "I didn't mean… I hope I didn't hurt you much."

"I won't die from it, unless I contract septicaemia," Sherlock sneered wiping a small bead of blood from his skin.

Howell held up the weapon he had used and frowned.

"What's this? I think it's from my pocket."

"It's the prong you used to murder Arnold Harrison," Sherlock explained coldly. "You kept it. As a souvenir? A memento? You really are insane."

Howell looked down at his stained hands in self-loathing, tears brimming in his eyes.

"No, don't start," John snapped. "Tell us what happened with Mrs Harrison. Then you can cry until you're satisfied when you're in prison."

Howell let out a moan like a wounded whale and fell back onto his back, writhing as if in pain, and muttering under his breath.

"I didn't mean to! I tried to get rid of the blood. I bathed her, but she just wouldn't get clean! Then everything went red and she wouldn't wake up and I… I," he spat out a sob, whining pitifully. "I ran. Here. Like I used to."

"Why do this now? Why didn't you hunt down the Harrisons when you were younger?" Sherlock demanded, looking down threateningly at the withering man.

"My best friend… he kept me sane. Since the carehome. Jack Hanna."

"And what happened to Jack? Where is he now?"

"He's dead," Howell sighed desperately. "Brain haemorrhage. Last week. They wouldn't even let me see him. I couldn't say goodbye, like my father. It just brought everything back. The pain. The _anger. Oh, _the _anger. _Like I was on FIRE!"

Howell suddenly looked up at John, staring at the menacing blackness of the barrel of the gun with a tiny smile.

"I can hear it," he giggled faintly, rising slowly to his feet. "The music."

John tightened his grip on the gun, pursing his lips, "Sit back down, or I'll kill you."

"That's what they want," he whispered back wildly. "They want me to _die. _Or I'll be with them forever… But you won't kill me."

John raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes… because I'm going to kill myself."

And with that, Howell raised the prong and plunged it into his ribcage, a great yowl of pain and victory splitting the air as he fell back with a thump. John threw away the gun and dropped to his knees, pressing his hands over the man's rapidly bleeding chest.

Sherlock also swooped into action, whipping out his phone and calling Lestrade, beginning to shout at him to hurry.

But Alex wasn't concentrating on them. She was staring intently at Darren, and he was staring back. His lips were moving. Whispering.

_"Here comes the candle to light you to bed. Here comes the chopper to chop off your head, Aless-"_

But before he could finish her name, the glass of the cabin shattered and the pool of blood around Darren doubled as his eyes rolled back into his skull, and his head lolled uselessly on his shoulder. John instinctively scurried back, Alex running over to help him up and make sure he wasn't hurt.

"I'm fine… it didn't touch me," John panted, shaken, as he stood.

Sherlock hurdled over Darren's body immediately after the shot and cast his piercing gaze out into the wood, but there was no-one there. He cursed under his breath as he heard the unmistakeable footfalls of the blundering police.

"Sherlock! John!" Lestrade shouted as he pushed open the cabin door, officers flooding in behind him, looking wide-eyed at the corpse of the person they were supposed to be arresting. "Sherlock, what the –"

"What took you lot so long? Did you decide to fill up for fuel on the way over here?" Sherlock snapped angrily.

"No, actually," Lestrade gave him a pointed look. "We had a run-in with our friendly neighbourhood bomber."

Sherlock straightened immediately, his eyes glimmering with excitement and fury. John, on the other hand took a more practical approach and used actual sentences.

"What's he done now?"

"Nothing, just gave some people a fright in Piccadilly Circus. If anything, I'd say he was distracting us from coming here."

"So he _was_ involved in this," John muttered.

Lestrade nodded, "He was skulking 'round Baker Street, thought he was trying to draw you out. But there's no-one at yours at the minute with Mrs Hudson away and surely he knew you were here. He's up to something so you two better watch out."

At that Alex felt fear bolt through her like an icy jet. Logan. He was at Baker Street. Damn.

* * *

><p>As soon as the cop car – courtesy of one of Lestrade's officers – pulled up, Alex sprinted out, taking the keys from Sherlock and bounding up the stairs to her room. She threw open her door and let out a huge sigh of relief at the sight of Logan sat on her bed, chewing his nails.<p>

"Have you seen him? Moriarty?" she demanded, closing her door and keeping her voice extremely low so as not to alert John and Sherlock.

Logan looked back at her blankly, "No, of course not. Is he here?"

"Not anymore," she assured him, seeing the terror rise in his eyes. "But you need to leave, quickly. I don't have time to go to Mycroft's, so I'll just have to call Anthea to do it and hope she keeps you a secret."

She went over to the window and hoisted it open stepping out onto the shed roof and leaving space for nodding Logan to climb out after her.

"Won't they realise you're gone?"

"I'll deal with their wrath later, priority is to get you out of London preferably before we both get a bullet to the head, got it?" Alex said breezily as she jumped down into the back alley, flicking up her hood and motioning for Logan to do the same.

"Got it."

"Good, now I hope you still have your stamina because we're gonna have to run, taking a taxi is too risky with the cameras they have fitted."

* * *

><p>After running – Alex with the periodic limp – completely silent beside each other, Alex only talking whilst arguing with Anthea to go through with their plan (and eventually succeeding), they arrived at the train station. Alex went over to the ticket desk whilst Logan took a seat on one of the benches on the platform.<p>

"Thank you," Alex said to the Ticketmaster and sat next to Logan, handing him his ticket.

"Where am I going then?" Logan asked with forced nonchalance.

"Edinburgh."

An unknown emotion flashed in Logan's eyes as he looked down at his lap, chewing on his tongue. The rain had eased off, but the wind still made their hair blow in their faces, covering Logan's left eye as it always did. His stupidly adorable fringe.

"It uh… suddenly seems very real," he grinned briefly before sadness took over.

Alex watched him from the corner of her eye, brushing her own curls out of her face. She bit the side of her mouth as she watched his sadness.

"This is the only way out you have, Lo'," she said.

He glanced up at her, "You called me 'Lo''. You haven't called me that since…"

Alex cleared her throat uncomfortably, "You look upset. Don't flatter yourself into thinking that I'm reconsidering. I'm merely trying to make you feel a bit better."

He nodded, looking slightly crestfallen, "So what happens when I get to Edinburgh? Where do I go?"

"I've written everything on your ticket just then. You've fully paid for a flat on the Fangborne estate two miles from the station, and you start your new job at the astronomy section of the National History Museum of Edinburgh tomorrow," she informed him.

His eyes lit up a little at that, "Really?"

"I know you like astronomy so…" Alex coughed again. "Plus it'll be really boring for you. And-and I want you to have a r-rubbish job a-and be really... unhappy."

Logan was stopped from replying to the obvious lie as the train gave a hoot and pulled up to a stop next to them. A few passengers milled off, including two children holding hands, brother and sister. Their mother and father followed, playfully nudging each other. Alex smiled softly at the sight.

She quickly snapped back to the situation when she felt Logan's hand slip into hers as he looked down at her.

"I have to go now," he said lamely, pointing to the train.

Alex nodded, "Right, well… bye then."

Logan licked his lips, his eyes darting fervently to the train and the girl in front of him.

"Look, Alex, I'm probably never going to see you again and… I just… I want you to know that I'm so sorry. To you and April. I," he disguised his choked voice with a cough, much as Alex had done. "You and I were like siblings Alex, until we got older and… I just want you to know that… If ever you need me, or you want to talk, I'll always come back. And I know you hate cheesy things so I'm just gonna say it - I'm always gonna love you Alex. As a girlfriend, as a best friend, and as a sister. And I… I can't say... I don't _want _to say..."

It took all of Alex's willpower not to let the tears pool in her eyes as the train gave a final warning. Logan gritted his teeth and took his ticket, pressing a tender kiss to Alex's forehead as she closed her eyes. He held her hand for as long as he could before he slipped away, stepping onto the train and taking the seat at the very back and in the corner. So Alex couldn't see.

As it the doors closed, Alex felt the sudden need to prise them open again, but she didn't. She just stood and watched as it began to move, the windows flashing past her in a haze of faces. But none of them Logan's.

She stood shivering on the platform for five more minutes after he left, her arms wrapped tightly around herself for warmth. That was it.

Alex let out a deep, pain-filled breath before turning her back on the track. Every step she took was one further away from him. But she kept walking. And walking. And walking.

All the way back to Baker Street, feeling suddenly very light.

She was never any good with goodbyes.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, kie1993, vivien gorner, rycbar15, Crossing the Galaxy 22, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, Rose Sargent, 3 broomstix, WerewolfHybrid31, and Eternal Cat Moon for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you in the morning because I'm shattered!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	75. The Moment of Truth

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I'm so so sorry for the long wait. I haven't been able to update because of personal reasons but I should be back now. I'm so sorry and I hope you understand. A nice, long chapter to make up for it :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She stood shivering on the platform for five more minutes after he left, her arms wrapped tightly around herself for warmth. That was it. Her first love, her first friend. Her only friend._

_Alex let out a deep, pain-filled breath before turning her back on the track. Every step she took was one further away from him. But she kept walking. And walking. And walking._

_All the way back to Baker Street, feeling suddenly very light._

_She was never very good at goodbyes._

Alex didn't bother with sneaking around the back and shimmying through her window to pretend to be asleep and _pretend _that she hadn't just done what she had done. Simply walking through the front door and up the stairs, not even pausing when she pushed open the living room door.

Sherlock immediately turned to her from his spot in his armchair, frowning at her.

"Where've you been?" he asked, somewhere between confusion and anger. "You were upstairs a minute ago."

Alex shrugged, her expression unreadable as she dropped onto the sofa, pulling a blanket over her legs.

"No shrugging, Alex, where've you been? Unless you want me to ring Mycroft…" he trailed off expectantly.

"I just went out for some air, calm down! There's no need for Uncle Mycroft to get involved," she mumbled under her breath.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, shuffling so he could look at her properly, "Listen, Alex. Things are different now to what they were before when you could go out at whenever you felt like it and to wherever you want. You can't do that now. Not after Moriarty expressing his_… interest_ in you."

Alex winced at the name, a sick feeling curdling in her stomach. She couldn't bare Sherlock to say his name. It felt so wrong. The way he drawled it with such hate. She, after all, was a Moriarty. Alessandra Moriarty.

"I know," she replied through gritted teeth, pushing away her thoughts. "But if I stay sewn to your side, he'll have won."

Sherlock growled slightly in frustration, "You aren't in the game. To you, it doesn't matter if he wins; all you need to worry about is staying alive."

Alex threw away the blanket from her body and stood from the sofa, her mind suddenly filled with resentment at the stupid consulting criminal. And this stupid, stupid game. It was suffocating and ridiculous.

She walked over to the desk in the corner of the room and lifted the lid of her laptop, aware of Sherlock's eyes on her as she did. She wasn't going to reply to him. That wasn't the sort of promise she could keep. She knew more of the game than her uncle did, and that was the problem. She had this giant jigsaw piece in her hand and she had to watch as Sherlock tore his hair out looking for it, and she couldn't give it to him. She was too weak.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock questioned as Alex hammered away at the keyboard.

"Looking for school placements," she said, scrolling through the search engine results.

Sherlock's face screwed up in disgust, "Why on Earth do you want to go back to school? You hated it."

"Because I haven't been for months. I need GCSEs and qualifications if I want a job in the future. And anyway, I might make some friends."

That was a blatant lie. If she did go back to school, she would distance herself as much as possible from friendships. They never ended well. On their part. Kidnapped, tortured, killed. That was pretty much the cycle. Each just brought more pain than the last.

"Mycroft can get you qualifications. And you don't need friends. They're imbeciles," Sherlock said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "Anyway, you have that girl. You seem to like her."

"April?" Alex smiled briefly as she said her name. "She's great. But she's so much younger than me, I feel more of an older sister than a friend."

Sherlock was silent for a moment before saying, "You would've been an older sister, you know. Your mother had always wanted a big family since we were children. Things changed after you were born, though. She didn't find anyone worthy enough to have a family with."

"That wasn't anything to do with you was it?" Alex asked knowingly, giving a subtle grin as she carried on searching.

"If they could pass Mycroft abducting them, they were passed on to me. Needless to say, no-one managed to get passed that stage," Sherlock's mouth quirked up at the corner in amusement.

Alex's smile faded, still looking at the computer screen. That was after her mother had ended her relationship with Moriarty, once she had gotten pregnant. She must've been so lonely and heart-broken, knowing that her lover was a murderer and then having to walk away and raise a child on her own, constantly fretting over her daughter and her own safety.

_It must've been so hard for her not to tell anyone. Not even Sherlock or Mycroft. They all thought she had been assaulted. They had no idea… _Alex thought grimly.

A ping from her laptop made Alex jump from her thoughts and click on her emails. She scrolled up to the message and opened it. It was a picture. Of her. In Gillian Mauston's room in the hospital. At the top of the subject line were the words: **You look like your mother when you're scared.**

"Actually, I'm gonna go upstairs," Alex said slowly as she tilted the lid of her laptop and balanced it on her hip, opening the door and leaving a frowning Sherlock behind her.

Once she was in her room, she began to type a reply.

**_Leave me alone. Nice job with the puppets, I'm sure you were a great help with Mr Howell. Lovely touch with the nursery rhyme._**

It was obviously dripping with sarcasm and as she clicked send, Alex took another look at the photo. She could barely make out Logan standing in the corner, his eyes at his feet as a crying Gillian attached wires to Alex's neck and shoulders. He had known, of course, all along. And yet he didn't stop her. He was too scared. Too cowardly. What a lovely match.

There was another trill as another photo arrived, this time with Alex's back arched in pain and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

With even more vigour than before, Alex typed her reply back heavy-handedly.

**_Don't you have someone else to bother? Piss off!_**

The response was instantaneous.

**_That's no way to speak to your old dad. I just want to see if you wanted to come out to play, it'll be dark soon._**

**_Funnily enough, I don't want to be bundled into the back of a van and tortured thanks very much._**

**_Oh come on! Just a nice chat before bed._**

**_Go away!_**

**_We need to talk, Alessandra._**

**_No we don't!_**

**_Yes we do… I'm only doing this because I'm worried for you._**

Alex blinked at her screen in shock.

**_Why would you be worried for me? What have you sent for me now?_**

**_Nothing, nothing… I'm going to let you have a little break. For now, anyway. I like your hair, by the way. Looks very windswept. Been anywhere nice?_**

Alex's eyes widened as she glanced up at the webcam at the top of her screen. The little red light was dimly glowing, signifying that it was on. She quickly covered it with her pillow.

**_Turn that off now! You can't do that! I'm not even involved in your game with Sherlock, leave me alone._**

**_Those his words?_**

**_No._**

**_I can tell when you're lying, even through messages. Don't you worry, darling, you're just as involved as he is. I don't want you feeling left out. Anyway, you had better get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow._**

**_Why? What's happening tomorrow? You said you were giving me a break._**

**_Never mind. Goodnight, Alessandra Moriarty, love you!_**

Alex could practically hear Moriarty's laughter as he sent the email. She slammed the lid of her laptop down and slid it under pillow, her hands shaking with rage. If only she could go back to when he had lingered in Bart's morgue playing 'Jim from IT', she would skewer him with one of Molly's scalpels and enjoy every second. It would have saved so much time and effort. She would punch him for every time he had hurt her or her family, and double for her mother.

A soft knock at her door caused Alex to abruptly cease her imaginary throttling and call,

"Come on in, John."

He eased the door open, giving her a smile and placing down a mug of tea on her bedside cabinet.

"What's this for?" Alex asked, taking the cup with a grateful grimace.

"Your uncle is driving me insane so it was either make tea or throw the boiling water _at _him. I reckoned Mrs Hudson would prefer the former," he grinned. "I've just had three consecutive mugs and I'm starting to feel a little wired, thought it might be better for you to have this one."

Alex laughed softly and brought the mug to her lips, relishing in its heat.

"Sherlock told me you were looking at schools."

Alex nodded, "Thought it might be best to get out of here before I go stir-crazy."

"Thinking of boarding school?" John asked as he leant against the doorway.

"Sounds like you're trying to get rid of me John," Alex said in mock outrage, a hand to her heart. "And no, I don't think Sherlock and Mycroft would want me anywhere else, especially with…"

Alex trailed off, unable to think of how to finish her sentence and so just taking a sip of her drink instead.

"So what have you got so far then?" John asked, and reached for the laptop under the mound of pillows on her bed.

Almost spilling her tea in her haste, Alex slammed down the mug on her table with one hand, the other pulling the laptop to her torso protectively. John raised an eyebrow questioningly at her.

"Uh… it's updating… so it won't log on," Alex stumbled, her head beginning to thump.

John nodded unconvincingly but accepted it nonetheless, "I'd better go back down before something gets broken, anyway. Good luck with your laptop."

He gave her a pointed look and left the room. As soon as the door shut, Alex groaned aloud into her palm and vigilantly lifted the lid of the laptop. Sure enough, the first thing John would have seen was emailing page. Mr Moriarty mockingly declaring his love for his daughter. That would have required some explaining.

Alex groaned again, re-reading the messages. Her headache worsened as she skimmed over the message: 'big day for you tomorrow'. What was that meant to mean. Oh, she couldn't cope with another scene. Unless it wasn't for her. But who else was there? Sherlock, Mycroft and John could more than look after themselves, Logan was gone, but that left… April.

Diving for the landline on her windowsill, Alex typed in the well-rehearsed number for the little girl's Carehome and tapped her foot urgently as the voice of a woman answered.

_"Hello?"_

"Hi, I'm Alex Holmes, April's friend. I-I was just ringing to see if she was okay," Alex rushed out, trying to rein in the panicky jolt in her voice.

_"Of course she is," _the woman's tone was slightly suspicious. _"You're that girl that was with her when she went missing, aren't you? You're the Alex that she never shuts up about."_

"Uh, yeah…"

_"Can you tell us what happened then? April just clams up and the police won't give us anything."_

"I…" Alex faltered. "I don't remember anything."

If only that was true. She could still remember and feel everything as if it were in vivid technicolour, every nick on her skin, every cry of pain from both her and the girl she was enquiring about, every gunshot. Every drop of water.

_"_Anyway, the police said I shouldn't discuss it with people," Alex continued, lying coolly, her face emotionless.

_"Okay," _the woman sighed. _"I know I shouldn't have asked. Would you like to speak with April? She's just watching TV before bed."_

"Yes, please," Alex readily agreed.

There was a round of static on the other end of the phone before the chirpy voice of April answered. Her voice was slightly muffled as if she were eating something at the same time.

_"'Ello?"_

Alex made her tone upbeat, a careless smile on her face, "Hey, April. How're you doing?"

_"Alex!" _there was a small crash as whatever was sitting on her knee fell off as she stood. _"Oops, I dropped the popcorn. I'm great, actually. There're so many DVDs here to watch. I'm watching The Black Cauldron at the minute. Do you like that?"_

"Yeah, I used to watch it when I was your age."

_"So what did you want to talk to me about?" _April's cheery tone suddenly dropped, a warble of fear running through her voice. "_Has something happened?"_

Alex opened her mouth to explain. She wanted to tell her everything. April was the person who she had explained her past to that day in the park, as she had done in return. She had comforted the girl when she was in trouble and shielded her from harm when they were taken. They had seen the worst and the best of each other, this wouldn't change anything.

Yet, the way April trembled over the phone made Alex remember the fear in her eyes when they were in the funhouse, even the farmhouse. Moriarty had executed that, and she was terrified of him. The way April had been happily munching on sweets watching a film, and now had the too-old worry in her voice, it made Alex hate herself for putting it there.

"Nothing April," Alex swallowed, her smile dropping – unknown to April – as she carried on. "I just wanted… to see how you were. I'd… better be going."

_"Oh, okay," _the benevolent, yet slightly confused tone was back. _"Bye Alex!"_

"Goodbye, April, stay safe. And enjoy the film. It… it has a good ending," she finished lamely.

She heard April laugh before hanging up the phone, softly slipping it back into its cradle with a soft click. Night was falling outside and a chill was seeping through the window frame, causing goosebumps to form on Alex's arms as she slipped into bed and closed her eyes.

* * *

><p>Morning arrived and Alex was none the more rested for it. She had spent the entire night chewing the side of her mouth, brooding over her situation. She couldn't just sit and wait any longer, she had to tell someone. Moriarty had told her that something was going to happen today. Where Moriarty was concerned, that was <em>never <em>going to be a nice surprise. It was almost certain that someone was going to end up lying on a slab in Molly's morgue.

No, it was time to put an end to it. She couldn't hold it off anymore. She was going to tell them. She was going to tell them everything and then maybe she would stop feeling so heavy, and maybe that damned headache would go away!

Throwing her dressing gown over her shoulders, Alex shuffled down the stairs to the living room, shivering slightly when her feet hit the cold floor.

John was sat in his usual seat, a mug of tea in his hand and several empty mugs around him. Sherlock had obviously been annoying him. Sherlock in question was fiddling with his violin, cleaning his bow and testing the strings over by the window.

Alex gave John a tilt of her head in acknowledgement, "Could I use your phone since I broke Sherlock's?"

"Considering your past record with mobiles, I'm very tempted to say no," he replied.

"Come on, you can see me using it. I only need to send a text."

With a sigh, John nodded at the phone that sat on the coffee table. Alex gave a smile of thanks and selected Mycroft's number, hardly registering that he was saved under _Dickhead _in John's contacts. Her hands shook nervously as she typed the text.

**Come to Baker Street, I need to talk to you – AH**

The reply, of course, was instant.

**I'm rather busy, can it wait? – M**

**Not really. It's important – AH**

**I'll be there in a few minutes – M**

She could hear the sigh as her uncle typed those words, but didn't giggle as she usually would as she returned the phone.

"Why is Mycroft on his way here?" Sherlock asked without even turning around. A great good-morning from the consulting detective.

"Because I asked him to," Alex replied smoothly. "So play nice."

"Why?"

"Am I not_ allowed_ to invite him over?" Alex countered challengingly.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, "I'm more interested in what you said to make him give up his hefty schedule."

Alex rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen. She needed something to do. Anything to stop her hands from shaking, they needed to be busy. She filled the kettle full of water and flicked it to boil, whipping out a few mugs from the cupboard. She watched as the water began to bubble, steam rising from the spout in wisps.

"A watched pot never boils," Sherlock said from behind her.

"Usually the other way around, isn't it?" Alex quipped without breaking eye contact with the kettle. "I come up with an old saying and you give me some spiel about how scientifically incorrect it is."

"Usually," he agreed, and Alex felt him move a little closer to her. "What're you making? Tea or coffee?"

Alex sighed, "What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Tea," he replied without hesitation.

"You know what I mean."

There was a small pause. "I want to know why your hands are shaking, and why you didn't get a wink of sleep last night. I also want to know why you went to Kings Cross with Mr Baxter. And I want to know why you've asked Mycroft to come over here, and why you look like you're about to keel over."

Alex's throat tightened as her uncle spoke, licking her lips and lacing her fingers together to make them stop quivering. Or at least make it a little less noticeable. She turned and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He looked back, unwavering.

She was thankfully saved from talking by the sound of the door opening.

"Mycroft's here," she said softly, pouring the water into the mugs and carrying them into the living room.

She could sense Sherlock observing her closely, and that only made her even more nervous than she already was.

"Morning, Alex," Mycroft greeted with a small smile.

She responded in kind, though it was obviously forced, "I, uh, made some tea. You'll probably… wanna sit down."

She grimaced at the look exchanged by Sherlock and Mycroft, knowing that with just that sentence, she had put them on guard.

"D'you want me to go?" John asked warily.

"No," Alex said, at the same time as Mycroft said,

"Yes."

Alex glared at him a little, before turning to John with a softer expression, "Please stay."

_I'm not sure if I can have this conversation twice._

Though he looked less than happy about it, Mycroft took his place in Sherlock's chair, causing the younger Holmes to grit his teeth and sit on the sofa. Alex kept standing in front of them, extremely aware of how her legs were trembling.

"Don't say you've broken the law somehow and need us to bail you out," John joked, trying to diffuse the tension somewhat.

It didn't work.

Alex just kept switching her gaze to each of them, watching the emotions flash across their faces. Annoyance, worry, concern, suspicion. These were the people that she loved, the people that she had, that were _hers. _But after this conversation… what if they weren't anymore. But it was too late to back out. And anyway, someone was in danger, Moriarty had told her that much. She wasn't about to let someone lose their life because she had 'daddy issues'.

"Y'know…" Alex's voice cracked already, _oh great start, well done. _"Y'know when I was born… Mum didn't have a husband or a boyfriend – I didn't have a d-dad."

Sherlock frowned at her stumbling and pained countenance, that wasn't like her. She was usually a confident speaker, and not afraid to speak in front of people, least of all her family.

"Your mother was assaulted. You know this, that's why you don't have a father. You don't need one."

Her voice was somewhat steadier but quieter as she gave her head an almost unnoticeable shake, "She wasn't assaulted. She was in a relationship with someone. And _he's _my father."

"Alex, this is ridiculous, your mother wasn't with someone when you were conceived," Mycroft's face twisted in disgust for a moment. "Where are you getting this from?"

She didn't answer. She just looked down at her toes that were tense and curled over.

"Moriarty told you this, didn't he?" Sherlock spoke up in a false calm, his deep voice forcing her to look at him. "That's what he told you when he said that he knew things about May. You can't believe him, he's a liar –"

"He proved it."

That stopped Sherlock mid-rant as his frown deepened.

"What?" it was John this time. "How could he…?"

"It was a blood test," Alex answered, her eyes trained on Sherlock and gauging his reaction. "When he brought me home, he told me that I had to meet him again a week later, once I'd healed a little. But after a couple of days, I met him then –"

"You _what?!" _Mycroft thundered. "You _willingly _went to him again and didn't tell anyone? How could you be so _stupid?!"_

Alex flinched, if that was his reaction to that, what would he do once she told him? But once she had started, it was too hard to stop. She just had to keep going.

"He took me to a factory and showed me a spot where my mother and her boyfriend used to meet. There were pictures of them together," Alex's lips were almost non-existent as she clamped them together. "Moriarty took some of my blood and tested it, and it came back positive. I… was a match. To the boyfriend. He-he was my father. He _is _my father."

Mycroft was seething, his eyes ablaze with fury, "And where was this man throughout your life? Your mother's life? What's his name? Tell me, Alex!"

Alex closed her eyes, barely noticing the minute tear falling down the side of her face. She was lightheaded. It was almost as if she was on strong morphine and was trying to walk down the stairs. This was it.

"James Moriarty… he's my dad," Alex didn't open her eyes as another tear slid down her cheek. But she was so pale, no-one noticed it.

A horrible, gut-wrenching silence fell over the room. And still Alex didn't open her eyes.

"I need to make some calls," Mycroft finally said, his voice dangerously calm and uncaring.

She heard him stand and leave, his heavier-than-usual footsteps betraying his true feelings. Alex's lips parted as if to call him back, but no sound came out.

Now was Sherlock's turn.

"I'm going out," he growled, his voice dripping with vicious resentment.

"Sherlock, don't do anything stupid," John warned, and Alex heard both men stand up. "Come on, this doesn't change anything –"

"_It changes everything," _Sherlock hissed and soon his footsteps were echoing down the stairs, John following him with a mutter of 'for God's sake'.

Only when the front door slammed for the last time, did Alex open her eyes. They knew. It was over. She no longer felt that she was breathing in treacle, or that she was wading through a marsh every time she took a step.

So why hadn't her headache gone?

Falling into Sherlock's seat, Alex wanted nothing more in that moment than to just feel his arms around her, reassuring her that it was alright. That everything was going to be fine. But he had gone. So had Mycroft. So had John.

"They won't be gone for long," she whispered to herself.

They just needed to clear their heads. That's all.

When the landline rang, Alex knew exactly who it would be and answered it, draping her hand to the coffee table to reach it without looking. Just the person she had been wanting to speak to. She had figured it out.

"You were never gonna hurt anyone, were you?" Alex spoke as she heard breathing on the other end of the phone. "This is what you meant by 'big day'. The day I told them who I am. Well I did it."

_"I know you did, darling," _Jim crooned. _"And a very good job you did too. I wonder how Uncle Mycroft feels now that he's lost control of the one he needs to protect most. And Uncle Sherlock," _he let out a low whistle. _"It must be _horrible _to feel threatened by your _real _father."_

"They left," Alex was surprised her voice didn't crack.

_"Of course they did,_" his tone was more serious now. _"Of course they left. They see you for what you are now, a Moriarty. You aren't a Holmes. You aren't Alessandra Holmes. You're my daughter… the one they've kept from me for so many years. Oh," _he chuckled. _"You could've been fantastic if you hadn't been on the side of the angels. Beside me. The family business –"_

"My loyalty is to 'the side of the angels', as you so put it," Alex retorted, some emotion returning to her voice. "Though you've proved I'm not one of them. A pauper can't suddenly be a princess."

_"Hmm, are you insinuating that I'm a pauper, young Alex? Because I assure you, my side is definitely the side of the royalty. And don't worry, a pauper like you can soon become a royal like me. Soon."_

That last word unnerved Alex. He sounded, dare she say it, _thoughtful? _However, before she had the chance to reply, the line disconnected, and Alex placed the phone down on the cradle.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes, comfort now needed even more. As she blinked to get rid of the stars in her vision, her line of sight trailed to Sherlock's Belstaff coat hanging up as it usually was. He went out without it. In December. That was unheard of.

With a gentle hand, Alex unhooked the coat and draped it over her shoulders snuggling down into the fabric as she curled up in Sherlock's chair. The coat smelled of him. Even down to the tinge of old cigarettes. But it was warm and comfortable and a reminder that Sherlock was going to come back soon.

He had to. It didn't matter than Moriarty was her father. Sherlock had always been there from the moment she was born, doing all the things a father did.

Moriarty was her biological father. That meant nothing. Sherlock was her _dad._ And that was so much more.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, rose and sherloki'd, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, 3broomstix, GottaLoveTen, Owl Indigo, Guest, ShatteredBlue221, FlewandFlied, AnotherDamnMexican149, rycbar15, OnceUponADeduction, The Auburn Girl, Lyriel, Crossing the Galaxy 22 for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you later today.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	76. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: So sorry for the lack of update. I hope you understand. This chapter spans a few weeks after line breaks so though Alex is still struggling to cope with recent events, she ****_is _****essentially coping and so is much happier in this chapter. Also, this is the beginning of a Scandal in Belgravia! Yey!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_With a gentle hand, Alex unhooked the coat and draped it over her shoulders snuggling down into the fabric as she curled up in Sherlock's chair. The coat smelled of him. Even down to the tinge of old tobacco. But it was warm and comfortable and a reminder that Sherlock was gonna come back soon._

_He had to. It didn't matter than Moriarty was her father. Sherlock had always been there from the moment she was born, doing all the things a father did._

_No, Moriarty was her biological father. That meant nothing. Sherlock was her dad. And that was so much more._

John swore under his breath as he told the cab driver to pull up as the cab in front mounted the curb. Sherlock had, of course, decided to get as far away as he could with the fiver in his pocket, meaning John was once again trailing after him.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, wait!" John shouted, almost getting tangled in the seatbelt in his haste to leave the cab.

The detective just turned up his collar and carried on walking.

But John wasn't having any of that.

"Sherlock! Sherlock… Hey!" he ran a few more steps and tugged on the man's sleeve.

Sherlock turned to face him, giving him a glare capable of reducing lesser men to quivering puddles of mush. It was a good job John definitely was stronger than that.

"Stop. Just, stop right there," John said, panting slightly.

"Why? What d'you want that can't wait?" Sherlock sneered.

John looked at him blankly, "Are you being serious?"

He shrugged insufferably.

"Sherlock, you've just found out your niece is the daughter of your biggest enemy, show at least a little bit of…" John fumbled as he tried to think of the word.

"What? Emotion? I don't show emotion. I'm a machine, remember?" he said scornfully.

"Oh don't start that," John scoffed. "We both know it isn't true. Need I remind you of all the time you spend stood in the doorway of Alex's bedroom when she was gone? Or when you basically fell apart after she was able to speak to –"

"Stop it," Sherlock ordered quietly, the sardonic tone dropped.

John's resolve softened a little, "You were wrong earlier. This doesn't change anything and you know it."

"No, that's where _you're _wrong. This changes so much. It also explains so much. His… fascination with her," Sherlock's nose wrinkled in repulsion and anger. "And why May never wanted us to find out who 'attacked' her all those years ago. But this does change things. Makes me want to kill him even more than I did."

"I think you can be joined by a whole hoard of people baying for Moriarty's blood. But right now, we can't do anything but make sure the people Moriarty has targeted before are at least somewhat protected. Then we just wait for him to make his next move. Priority is to keep Alex safe from him."

"Mycroft's onto it," Sherlock muttered. "That and three bottles of whiskey."

John couldn't help but grin slightly at the image that put in his head before becoming serious once again, though with a faint smile still on his face.

"You need to get back," he said. "Alex is on her own and that's the last thing she needs right now. We both know she's prone to doing ridiculously stupid things when she's upset."

Sherlock nodded, "When did you suddenly become so intelligent?"

"I guess you must be rubbing off on me."

* * *

><p>The moment Alex heard footsteps on the stairs, she immediately bounded to the coat rack to hang Sherlock's coat back up before jumping back to the sofa. If someone walked in and saw her wearing his coat like a duvet, they might ask questions that she really didn't want to answer.<p>

She just scraped the fabric of the seat when the door opened, and her uncle walked in. Or rather, hovered just inside the room, avoiding eye contact. Following his lead, Alex also dipped her eyes, needlessly scanning the floor just to look natural – _what did she usually do with her eyes?! Or her hands? Stop twitching!_

"Alex," he finally looked at her, but she wasn't looking at him. In a much sterner voice, he repeated. "_Alex."_

Her eyes flickered to him. But she couldn't keep them on him for long. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment, or the nervousness, or the fear. Her uncle was never scared. If he was scared, that meant that she had reason to be absolutely terrified.

Sherlock sighed almost inaudibly as he walked over to her, crouching to her level and gently tipping her chin up to face him. He visibly softened as he looked at her pale face and red-rimmed eyes, knowing that this knowledge had taken its toll on her.

"You should've told me as soon as you found out," Sherlock said quietly, still holding her chin.

Alex looked back at him, forcing back tears, "Sorry. I just… didn't want to believe it for a while. Saying it out loud just made it true."

The side of Sherlock's mouth quirked up in a grimace for his niece.

"Come here," he muttered, pulling her from her seat on the sofa and onto his lap on the floor, something he hadn't done since she was little.

Alex laughed weakly as she landed, resting her head against the inside of Sherlock's shoulder with a real smile on her face as Sherlock's hand ran through her curls, his chest rumbling as he chuckled.

"You're crazy, you know that?" he said good-naturedly, still playing with her hair.

"Must be hereditary."

Sherlock laughed quietly again, his hand stilling as his chin rested on her head, his back propped against the sofa leg. Alex sobered up, closing her eyes and snuggling closer.

"Has he been contacting you?" Sherlock asked after a beat of silence.

Alex nodded, "Emails and phone calls."

Sherlock sighed, "Good luck to Mycroft telling Mrs Hudson to change the landline number. She's only just memorised this one. And you'll need a new email account."

"I figured that… What d'you think he's planning now then?" her voice wasn't worried. It wasn't really possible to fear for her safety when she was next to Sherlock in 221B. The safest place she could think of.

"We'll just wait and see. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Alex was cut off by a knock at the door.

She jumped up from Sherlock's arms and was half way across the room before Sherlock pulled her into a quick hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Love you, Alex," he said almost inaudibly.

"Love you too," she replied in a whisper. That was something that was hardly ever spoken in their family.

She broke away with a smile and went to answer the door. It opened before Alex got to it, revealing John stood with a man half-concealed behind him, looking quite nervous.

"Am I interrupting something?" John asked hesitantly.

"No, no. Hi, I'm Alex Holmes," Alex held out her hand to the man behind John.

The man gave her a small smile and shook her hand.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked with a groan.

"Look outside."

Exchanging a glance, Sherlock and Alex responded to their flatmate's request and peeked through the drawn curtains to see a small but considerable line of people waiting outside the door of 221B.

"What's this?" Alex frowned in confusion.

"Clients," Sherlock answered with a nick of excitement in his voice.

Alex sighed, looking from the new client stood in the living room to the growing line out on the pavement.

"Well, I'd better put the kettle on," she smiled, turning to the new client and gesturing to the dining chair facing the fireplace. "Make yourself at home."

As she flicked on the kettle, washing up the mugs from earlier, she felt John's presence behind her. Sherlock's voice was drifting from the living room as he began to talk to the client.

"You sure you're okay with the cases again?" John asked.

"Of course I am. I was fine with the creepy puppet guy, wasn't I? Plus, I've missed this," she added with a grin. "I've missed being… happy. And Sherlock happy, too."

John responded with a smile of his own, "Let's hope it stays that way, eh?"

"Here's hoping," Alex agreed, carrying the tray of drinks into the living room and placing one of the mugs on the table next to the client and handing the rest to Sherlock and John, keeping one for herself as she settled on the sofa with her legs curled up beneath her.

"My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the office –"

"Boring," Sherlock swiftly interrupted. "Next."

The man, looking dejected, rose from his seat and nervously scuttled back down the stairs, new footsteps already on the way up.

"Did he drink any of that?" Alex asked, pointing to the man's tea.

"Uh no, I don't think so," John replied.

Alex shrugged, "It'll do for the next one."

"And the one after that," Sherlock sighed as another dull client with a dull story walked through the door.

John just laid back, his feet up on the coffee table. It was going to be a long day, but he would get some quality content for his blog. He would certainly have fun winding Sherlock up as well – always a bonus.

The next few clients carried on just the same over the next week or two with little success. The fact that only a tiny proportion of the clients' cases actually materialized into something interesting, was irksome as ever to Sherlock, meaning that John and Alex bore the brunt of his impatience. John's blog, whilst the real reasoning behind the upsurge in clients, was unfortunately also a contributor to Sherlock's bad temper.

That and of course the people just wasting his time. For example: _"She isn't my real Aunt, I know human ash!" _that had garnered a couple of raised eyebrows. Or the adorable children that came in: _"They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he died. Is it because he went to heaven?" _And Sherlock's response that netted him two glares: _"People don't really go to heaven when they die, they're taken to a special room and burnt."_

So yes, things were as eventful as ever at 221B. Despite so many being boring, turned-down cases, some, as mentioned, were actually quite interesting. Some even unsolved. The German found in the boot of a car when he should have died in a plane crash in Dusseldorf, for example.

Alex's personal favourite was the case that John had titled 'the Geek Interpreter'. But that was just because she knew the boys from school. Ex-school.

Over the weeks, the trio had become quite the media phenomena thanks to John's blog and the popularity of the high profile cases solved, like the 'Naval Treatment'.

_"So, what's this one? "Belly Button Murders'?" Sherlock asked sarcastically as they began to take their leave from the theatre they had solved the case in._

_"The 'Naval Treatment'?" John suggested._

_Sherlock made a disgusted noise somewhere between a snort and scoff, making Alex laugh._

_"It's a great title, John. Just don't add in the bit when I fell down the steps," she said._

_"But that's one of the best bits."_

_Alex mock glared at him as Lestrade joined them from backstage._

_"There's a lot of press outside, guys," Lestrade informed them as they headed for the door._

_"Well, they won't be interested in us," Sherlock brushed off._

_"They never were before now," Alex pitched in._

_"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon. A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three."_

_Lestrade sounded as if he was enjoying himself a little too much at their discomfort._

_"For God's sake," Sherlock muttered, glowering at John as he quickly stuck his hand into the dressing room to the left and pulled out three hats, throwing a couple to John and Alex._

_Alex giggled uncontrollably as Sherlock and John put on a deerstalker and a farmer's cap whilst she put on the purple beanie hat that she had been thrown. At least hers was somewhat normal._

_"Cover your face and walk fast."_

Today, their faces were been all over the newspapers, much to their annoyance. All was suddenly forgotten though as they heard Mrs Hudson shout from the living room:

"You three! You've got another one!"

* * *

><p>Alex sat by the man's head, absent-mindedly wafting a few of Sherlock's documents in front of the man's face until he regained consciousness. They had thankfully decided against throwing a glass of water over him (Alex's idea) or just smothering him (three guesses who came up with that one).<p>

"You alright?" John asked as the man sat up, blearily blinking around the room.

"You fainted," Alex clarified as he looked confusedly at his surroundings. "I'm Alex Holmes, this is Doctor John Watson, and Sherlock Holmes, as you know. You came to us with a case?"

"Oh," the man nodded. "Yes, of course. I, uh…"

"Tell us from the start, _don't _be boring," Sherlock warned, already feeling as if this was going to be instantly rejected.

The man took a deep breath, and after an encouraging smile from Alex, dove into his tale. Apparently, his engine had been acting up and as he was fixing it, he saw a man standing next to the river, then his car backfired, and when he looked up, the man was dead.

"Well…" Alex said for lack of a better remark in the silence that followed.

"Did you see anyone else?" John asked.

"Don't be so stupid, John," Sherlock interrupted before the man could utter a 'no'. "Of course he didn't see another person or he wouldn't be here, he'd be at a police station giving a description. Now John, off you pop, I have things to do."

"What things? Where am I going?" John frowned as Sherlock stood up and proceeded to the kitchen.

"You're going investigating."

"No, no," John laughed humourlessly. "I'm not. You don't just send me off to wherever you can't be bothered to go. Anyway, this arrangement is optional. I can soon walk away."

"Funny, isn't that what your last girlfriend told you?" Sherlock quipped nonchalantly.

John narrowed his eyes at the detective and pursed his lips.

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed.

Sherlock smirked into his microscope.

"Hey, at least you're going to Dublin first. Bring me back a leprechaun," Alex joked.

"We live with one. They just got the genes mixed up with a Pitbull."

* * *

><p>Alex raised an eyebrow as Sherlock emerged from his bedroom wrapped only in a sheet.<p>

"What on Earth are you wearing?"

"It's convenient," Sherlock shrugged as he sat down at the desk and opened up his laptop. "You're wearing pyjamas, it isn't that different."

_"You do realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?" _John grumbled over the webcam as he appeared on the screen.

"Hi, John!" Alex shouted, and he responded in kind.

"It's okay, I'm fine," Sherlock said.

_"I didn't really mean for you."_

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Look, this is a six. There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven. We agreed. Now, go back. Show me the grass."

John did as he was told and backed up, "When did we agree that?"

"We agreed it yesterday. Stop!" Sherlock leant forward to inspect the mud on the ground. "Closer."

"I wasn't even at home yesterday. I was in Dublin."

"Well, it's hardly _my_ fault you weren't listening," Sherlock snarled in anger as the doorbell rang. "SHUT UP!"

"It doesn't do what you tell it to, Sherlock."

"Then go and shut it up if you're so clever!"

Alex raised her hands in surrender and left the room to answer the door. Two men stood in the doorway as she opened it.

"Can I help you?"

"You're Miss Holmes?" Alex nodded. "We'd like to speak with you and your uncle."

"Which one?" Alex asked warily. "Because if it's the curly-haired one, I'd like to phone a lawyer first."

The man didn't appreciate what he thought was her fooling around, "It's a message from Mr Mycroft Holmes."

Alex breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh good. Or… possibly not good. Anyway, come on up."

She turned on her heel and led them up the stairs, entering the living room.

"Uncle dear, these people are here to give us a message from Mycroft – because apparently there isn't such thing as a text in the wonderful world that he lives in."

"His room's through the back and hers up the stairs. Get them some clothes," the man spoke to his colleague before Sherlock could reply.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Sorry, Mr Holmes. You and your niece are coming with us," the man spoke unapologetically as he closed the lid of the laptop despite John's protestations.

The colleague returned with a bundle of clothes in his hand, half of which he placed on the coffee table next to Alex, and the other half he put in front of Sherlock. Sherlock made no move to dress, but Alex, with a sigh, stood with the clothes in her hands to change from her pyjamas.

"What're you doing?" Sherlock questioned.

"You might not have to listen to your brother but since I'm technically still a child and he's my legal guardian, I'm obliged to do everything he says without complaint or argument," Alex replied in an automatic voice.

"That sounds rehearsed," Sherlock said, amused.

"Try writing it out three hundred times as punishment when you go to a party without permission," Alex smiled wryly as she slipped into the bathroom to change.

That had been an interesting night. Twelve year old Alex at Mycroft's for the weekend and sneaking out to go to a party hosted by Year Eleven boys with over five hundred people there. She was surprised Mycroft hadn't resorted to corporal punishment when he found her.

When Alex resurfaced, fully dressed and presentable, she snorted when she saw that Sherlock was still in the same state as before.

"Please Mr Holmes, where you're going, you'll want to be dressed."

There was a moment of silence as Sherlock's eyes raked over the two men, deducing every aspect of them. Alex rolled her eyes at his showy pretences.

Sherlock's lip quirked up as he finished reading their life story, "I know exactly where we're going."

"Well I can tell this is going to be fun," Alex remarked.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, simplemusings12, KlaineHallowsRumbleroar, The Auburn Girl, emilybrock101, E I Cochrane, FlewandFlied, Lin Volturi, 3broomstix, miafarrowinraybans, GottaLoveTen, Owl Indigo, AnotherDamnMexican149, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Classified Case, and Guest for reviewing! You have all been the ones to keep me going over the past few weeks so thank you so much.<strong>

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**Abby**

**X**


	77. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hi! Again, sorry for the week-and-a-bit-wait! I now have a week off school for half term so updates should be back on every three days and hopefully I can get a few chapters ahead to reduce waiting times.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Please Mr Holmes, where you're going, you'll want to be dressed."_

_There was a moment of silence as Sherlock's eyes raked over the two men, deducing every aspect of them. Alex rolled her eyes at his showy pretences. _

_Sherlock's lip quirked up as he finished reading their life story, "I know exactly where we're going."_

_"Well I can tell this is going to be fun," Alex remarked._

Alex tried miserably to keep the amused smile off her face at the moron she called an uncle sitting next to her, stubbornly still wearing his sheet and his poker face.

"Well this is…" Alex trailed off, looking around the room with barely-concealed awe. "Well it's Buckingham Palace."

Sherlock sighed, "And here I was thinking that you possessed my intellectual abilities."

"Hey, I'm not the one slouched on a couch that's probably worth more than all of Baker Street dressed in a towel," Alex retorted, grinning.

Sherlock just shrugged as a very confused looking John appeared in the doorway. Both Holmeses turned to him nonchalantly, Alex waving a small hand, still smiling at Sherlock. John nodded his head absently in return, still gawping in disbelief at his surroundings as he moved to hesitantly perch on the sofa next to Sherlock.

It was then that John fully appreciated what Sherlock was wearing. Frowning, he leant back to inspect the garment.

"Are you wearing any pants?" he asked, looking straight forward.

"No," Sherlock replied casually.

"Okay."

The three were silent for a moment before they burst into laughter, Alex holding her sides – completely carefree for once.

"At Buckingham Palace, fine," John said, his voice straining as he tried to control himself. "Oh, I'm seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray. What are we doing here? Seriously, what?"

"I don't know," Sherlock replied, still smiling.

"Here to see the Queen?"

"Apparently."

Alex raised an eyebrow at that until she looked over her shoulder to see her Uncle Mycroft appearing from around the corner of the golden archway, looking as if he completely belonged amongst royalty.

She smiled at him a little timidly, her humour somewhat leaving her as she recalled the last conversation she had had with Mycroft. He hadn't taken it all that well.

Behind her, both boys were cracking up again.

"Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?" Mycroft asked exasperatedly, sparing a fleeting smile back at Alex. This made her relax a tiny bit.

"We solve crimes, I blog about it and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope," John deadpanned.

Sherlock was now completely serious as he glared up at his older brother, "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft."

"What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?" Mycroft simpered condescendingly.

"Transparent," Sherlock replied, more than ready to match his brother's lofty heights.

John turned to Alex, startled with a look of 'really?' on his face. She shrugged. She could have said that she hadn't really been looking at the case but even then she probably wouldn't have got it.

"Time to move on, then."

Saying this, Mycroft stooped down to the small, ornate coffee table at their feet and handed Sherlock a pile of clothes. Sherlock turned his nose up at then impartially, making Alex give him a half-amused, half-stern look. He was _really _testing Mycroft now.

"We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation," Mycroft sighed irritably. "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on."

"What for?" Sherlock shrugged; Alex's look intensified.

"Your client."

Sherlock stood up, thankfully taking his sheet with him, "And who is my client?"

"Illustrious," a new voice said from the doorway.

The inhabitants of the room turned to look at him, Alex having to manoeuvre her head around Sherlock's body.

"In the extreme. And remaining – I have to inform you – entirely anonymous," the man continued, turning to Mycroft with a smile as John and Alex stood respectfully. "Mycroft."

"Harry," Mycroft greeted with a smile of his own.

It was a smile Alex had grown accustomed to seeing when her uncle was around people outside of the family. It was his _work _smile.

The two men shook hands and Sherlock looked on disinterestedly.

"May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?"

"Full-time occupation, I imagine," Harry replied.

Sherlock's face twisted into something halfway between a scowl and a scoff.

"So this makes you the niece of these two men, then?" Harry asked kindly, shaking hands with Alex, who smiled.

"Yup, that's a full-time occupation in itself," Alex said.

Harry laughed, "I'm sure it is," he turned to John next. "And this must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Hello, yes," they shook hands, John looking slightly confused but happy Harry knew his name.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog."

"Your employer?" John repeated in disbelief.

"Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch."

"Thank you!" John glanced back at Sherlock smugly and responded to Alex's high five.

Harry then finally turned to Sherlock. He had, cleverly in Alex's opinion, kept him until last to let him stew. No doubt her uncle had warned him about Sherlock's tendencies.

"And finally, Mr Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs," Harry noted.

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend," Sherlock said almost dismissively before forcing John to take a step back so that he could reach his brother. "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at _one_ end of my cases. Both ends is too much work."

Nodding his head to the equerry muttering a 'good morning', Sherlock began to take his leave. But Mycroft wasn't about to let that happen. Of course not.

Alex groaned into her hand as Mycroft stood on Sherlock's sheet, causing it to fall. Thankfully, he manage to catch it before he was completely naked, now only his chest exposed. But Mycroft still didn't let up.

"This is a matter of national importance. Grow up."

"Mycroft, Sherlock," Alex hissed through gritted teeth. "Behave!"

Sherlock ignored her, "Get off my sheet!"

"Or what?"

"Mycroft, stop," Alex tried again.

"Or I'll just walk away," Sherlock said defiantly, jutting his chin up.

"Please don't," Alex shuddered.

"I'll let you."

"Boys, please. Not here," John said.

Now absolutely seething, Sherlock spat, "Who. Is. My. _Client_?"

"Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now _for God's sake," _Mycroft's eyes flickered briefly to Alex and Harry (though Alex was more than used to them fighting) and forced himself to lower his voice. "Put your clothes on!"

Drawing in a sharp breath, Sherlock closed his eyes and turned around, wrenching his sheet from Mycroft's grasp and scooping up the pile of clothes on the table and disappeared out of the door.

Alex let out a sigh of relief and flopped down unceremoniously onto the lavish sofa next to John. Mycroft, sending an exasperated glance at Alex, sat down opposite her with infinitely more elegance whilst Harry took a call in the hallway.

"So…" Alex began, drumming her fingers on her thighs. "What was with you sending Dumb and Dumber to bring us here? You have a phone."

"Yes and I believe the last thing I asked you to do over the phone, you replied with 'piss off' and then hung up on me," he replied coolly.

Alex winced. She had forgotten about that. And now John was trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I guess you know now why I was angry," Alex trailed off, swallowing.

She shuffled, as she always did, under Mycroft's scrutiny.

"You needn't worry," he told her. "It's all been taken care of."

"What, by increasing security around home? Having guards incognito around the street? Getting someone to filter through mail and phone calls to John, Sherlock and me? Offering more money to more people to spy on us? Because no matter what you do, you can't change genetics," even Alex surprised herself by how resentful she sounded.

"No, but I can keep you both as safe as you can be," Mycroft said, and Alex had to hand it to him, he had handled that well.

In the past, there had always been clashes with the eldest Holmes and the youngest Holmes. Never anything that built up into an all-hate no-love relationship – Sherlock and Mycroft – but arguments were had that stewed for days and usually ending with little Alex packing a bag with a few copper coins and a teddy before taking off to Swansea, having a great time being the 'girl living rough', then after a few hours getting scared or hungry, and calling Mycroft to pick her up. That was if Mycroft hadn't found her first. In which case, just put the brakes on the escapades for a while whilst she was under house-arrest and then sneaking out the first chance she got just to repeat the process.

She liked to think she had grown since then. Instead of taking off, now she just shouted profanities down the phone and bitched about him to Sherlock – who for the most part was more than glad to have a good old rant at his elder brother.

This fact was further cemented by Sherlock's return into the room wearing a very impressive scowl upon his face, definitely directed towards Mycroft. Harry followed him in, finishing up his call and looking more urgent than before. A man carrying a tray of tea followed, setting the tray on the low table and promptly leaving.

"Fully clothed now, brother?"

"You have eyes, Mycroft, don't insult your own intelligence by asking such dumfounded questions," Sherlock sneered, taking a seat between Alex and John.

Both John and Alex were giving him warning looks, telling him very clearly to behave. Mycroft picked up the teapot and began to pour the tea into the cups.

"I'll be mother."

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock deadpanned, making Alex choke back another laugh.

Mycroft glanced up briefly to glower at him before returning to the task at hand.

"My employer has a problem," Harry began, motioning for Mycroft to continue.

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature, and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen," the tone in which this was said suggested that Mycroft was less than happy about this little fact.

"Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?" Harry cut in with a smile.

"Not, to date, anyone with a Navy," Sherlock said.

"Or with a coffee table worth more than my soul that we aren't even using coasters on," Alex chipped in.

Mycroft gave her one of _those looks, _"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore of trust."

"You don't trust your own Secret Service?" John asked.

"Naturally not. They all spy on people for money."

"Whereas you do it for fun?" Alex asked with a grin.

"I do think we have a timetable," Harry interrupted a little nervously.

"Yes, of course," Mycroft bent down to retrieve several laminated photographs from the briefcase at his feet and handed them to Sherlock. "What do you know about this woman?"

Alex and John looked over his shoulder at a photograph of a beautiful woman looking pensively at something just outside of the camera shot. She had tied up dark brown hair, flawless fair skin, and tight fitting white dress that accentuated her slim figure.

Sherlock's eyes skimmed over the photo, "Nothing whatsoever."

"Then you should be paying more attention. She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participants separately," Mycroft said.

Alex raised her eyebrows, "I'd like to meet her."

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia. Who is she?" Sherlock asked flippantly.

"Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman," Mycroft answered.

"Professionally?" John echoed.

"There are many names for what she does. She prefers 'dominatrix'."

"Dominatrix," Sherlock mumbled thoughtfully.

"Don't be alarmed. It's to do with sex."

"Sex doesn't alarm me," Sherlock replied hotly.

"How would you know?" Mycroft smiled snidely.

"Oh dear God, both of you please just shut up," Alex groaned, blushing at the look on both John and Harry's faces.

"Apologies, Alex," Mycroft said, though he didn't mean it. Anything to get a dig at Sherlock. He continued. "She provides – shall we say – recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it."

He retrieved more photos from the briefcase and handed them Sherlock, who rifled through them. They showed this Irene Adler in various provocative stances clothed in little to nothing. Alex's soft grin broadened.

"I really want to meet her now."

Mycroft looked like he didn't know whether to be horrified or terrified at the thought.

"And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs," Sherlock supposed, still looking at the photos in his hand.

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes," Harry noted in surprise.

"Hardly a difficult deduction," Sherlock brushed off. "Photographs of whom?"

"A person of significance to my employer. We'd prefer not to say any more at this time."

Sherlock threw down the photographs on the table in annoyance.

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked.

Harry glanced at Mycroft but both remained silent.

"Oh come on you can't expect us to come and investigate this without us knowing anything about it," Alex said reasonably. "We at least want to know what we're _investigating _before we agree to it."

That seemed to loosen Mycroft up a tiny bit, "I can tell you it's a young person."

John took a drink of his tea.

"A young _female_ person."

John's eyes widened as his cup halted at his lips. Sherlock and Alex grinned, Alex at least trying to cover it up by looking down at her lap.

"How many photographs?" Sherlock asked.

"A considerable number, apparently."

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?" Sherlock continued to question.

"Yes, they do," Mycroft glimpsed sideways at Alex, obviously uncomfortable speaking of this in her presence.

She just waggled her eyebrows suggestively, having fun tormenting her uncle.

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios."

"An imaginative range, we are assured."

Sherlock turned to Harry, "And judging by how urgent you are now compared to earlier, that call you took in the hallway was to inform you that your employer is growing more concerned."

Harry nodded solemnly.

Seeing that John is still staring blankly with his teacup still at his mouth, Sherlock advised, "John, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now."

John quickly did so.

"Can you help us, Mr Holmes?" Harry asked almost pleadingly.

"How?"

"Will you take the case?"

"What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'Know when you are beaten'," Sherlock said, rising from the sofa and reaching for his coat.

"She doesn't want anything."

Sherlock paused in his movements, turning back to his brother questioningly.

"She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort either money or favour."

Sherlock's face moulded into something other than contempt and boredom for the first time that day.

"Oh, a power play," he grinned. "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain. Now that _is_ a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather fun, isn't it?"

"Sherlock," both John and Alex muttered lowly at the same time.

"Hmm," he pulled on his coat. "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London currently. She's staying –"

"Text me the details," Sherlock cut him off. "I'll be in touch by the end of the day."

Everyone rose to their feet, following Sherlock's lead.

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked hopefully.

Sherlock faced towards him, "No, I think I'll have the photographs."

"One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think."

Affronted that the equerry was questioning him, Sherlock's eyes began to rake down the man's body, his mind racing through deduction after deduction. Alex sighed but stopped John as he was about to speak.

"Let him have his fun, he's been a marginally good boy today," she whispered.

Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't spout his deductions, but turned to Mycroft, "I'll need some equipment, of course."

"Anything you require. I'll have it sent to –"

But Sherlock once again cut him off, holding his hand out to Harry expectantly, "Can I have a box of matches?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry frowned.

"Or your cigarette lighter. Either will do."

"I don't smoke."

"No, I know _you_ don't, but your employer does."

_There it is, _Alex thought, _here I was thinking he wasn't going to show off._

Harry looked somehow calmly furious as he handed over a cigarette lighter from his inside pocket, "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes."

"I'm not the Commonwealth," Sherlock smiled wryly, stuffing the lighter in his trouser pocket and turning out of the door.

"And that's as modest as he gets. Pleasure to meet you," John nodded to Harry before following his friend.

"La'ers!" Sherlock shouted from the hallway.

Alex laughed loudly, shaking her head in amusement. Mycroft just rolled his eyes.

"Go on then," he sighed. "Go and talk to this Adler woman."

Alex smiled and gave Mycroft a small hug, kissing him on the cheek.

"Be careful and have fun," he murmured.

She broke away and picked up her coat from the armrest, running slightly to catch up with Sherlock and John.

"I will!" she yelled.

* * *

><p><strong>Just to clear something up before I get some messages about this (I would be a little sceptical too), the reason why Mycroft asked for Alex as well as Sherlock and John is because he knew that if he left her behind, not only would she be alone, but it would cause the rift between them to increase. Whilst keeping her safe, he also doesn't want to make her resent him for being the one to say that she can't take part in what she idolizes in Sherlock. In the next chapter, Mycroft does give Sherlock a pretty strong warning as well. I'm trying to make this as real as possible but if you think otherwise, I'm always free to chat, just pm me and we'll talk! :)<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: AnotherDamnMexican149, silent song of shadows, rose and sherloki'd, Guest, Owl Indigo, rycbar15, fastreader12, AddieHolmes, E I Cochrane, Anthea De Mars Shyde-O-Lantern, Lyriel, FlewandFlied, ShatteredBlue221, TeddyBear0410, Crossing the Galaxy 22, emilybrock101, Classified Case, and irrational bookworm for reviewing!**

**Replies have already been sent to you!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	78. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! Happy Halloween for Friday! Here's the longer than usual next chapter but a little warning: there is some very strong language at the end of this chapter but I feel that it is necessary for the character.**

**Enjoy!**

_Previously:_

_Alex smiled and gave Mycroft a small hug, kissing him on the cheek._

_"Be careful and have fun," he murmured._

_She broke away and picked up her coat from the armrest, running slightly to catch up with Sherlock and John._

_"I will!" she yelled much as Sherlock had done._

_Oh, she would._

Back at 221B, John let the Holmeses be and decided to take a look at news reports online to pick out these scandals that they were supposed to be 'paying more attention to' concerning this Irene Adler woman. That was when Alex jumped into the room with a broad smile, dressed as a nurse. A very low-cut nurse's outfit with a cap placed jauntily.

"What… are you wearing?" John spluttered, trying to avert his eyes from the _lots _of leg showing.

Alex shrugged, "What? She's a dominatrix, I'm sure she's seen more. I thought it would be quite appealing for her."

"Has Sherlock agreed to that?"

"Uhh… yeah?" Alex said hopefully.

John shook his head, "I'd take it off before he sees."

Alex rolled her eyes and playfully stormed off to change. She wasn't really being serious. It was her Halloween costume from when she was nine.

Changed back into normal, suitable clothing, Alex knocked on Sherlock's door and opened it ajar, only to be hit square in the face with a fireman's helmet.

"Ow!" she cried exaggeratedly, holding her eye.

Sherlock scoffed and just pulled on a police hat with a gesture of 'what do you think?'. Alex wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

"Too obvious."

With a sigh, Sherlock threw the hat away and tried on a high-vis jacket.

Alex leaned against the doorway, lightly knocking her head against the wall. Sherlock trying to find a disguise was like a woman trying to find an outfit for her first date. And it was going to take a while.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe after all of that drama finding a disguise, you put a bloody strip of cartridge paper under your collar," Alex muttered, shaking her head.<p>

"It's a vicar's dog collar," Sherlock defended as he craned his neck out the taxi window. "It's a good disguise."

"If you say so."

"So what's the plan?" John asked.

"We know her address," Sherlock replied in that 'duh' voice of his.

"What, just ring her doorbell?"

"Exactly," he leaned forward to the cab driver. "Just here, please."

"Even by your standards, Sherlock, this is just a little bit insane," Alex grumbled as they climbed out of the cab into a wide alleyway. "And where are we?"

"Two streets away," Sherlock answered, taking off his scarf and beginning to pace. "This'll do."

"For what?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to him completely seriously, "Punch me in the face."

Alex gave him a look that clearly conveyed her thoughts of him being barking mad.

"Punch you?"

"Yes. Punch me, in the face," Sherlock repeated, gesturing to his cheek. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I _always_ hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually sub-text," John retorted, Alex laughing and nodding in agreement.

"Oh for God's sake," Sherlock muttered, raising his fist and striking John on the cheek.

John reeled back, glaring daggers at the detective.

"Sherlock!" Alex chastised, but didn't get chance to separate the pair before John recovered and launched himself at Sherlock, punching him in the face, like he'd asked.

"Ow," John moaned, flexing his saw knuckles.

He turned away whilst Sherlock picked himself up from the floor. Alex just stood rooted to the spot.

"Thank you. That was – that was –"

He was cut off by the irate John tackling him to the floor again, apparently all of the anger towards the detective over the past few months surfacing. Alex now just shook her head in amusement and leant against the wall, occasionally cat-calling or rooting for John. There was a little bit of her that wanted to punch Sherlock as hard as she could too.

John had Sherlock in a headlock, almost strangling him as they both doubled over.

"Okay! I think we're done now, John," Sherlock rasped.

"You wanna remember, Sherlock: I was a soldier. I killed people," John snapped savagely.

"You were a doctor!"

"_I had bad days!"_

Sherlock sent a glare over to Alex, who was clutching her sides and uncontrollably laughing.

Alex and John rolled their eyes at the dramatic show Sherlock was putting on in front of the intercom at Irene's impressively-sized house. Honestly, he couldn't go a day without putting on the equivalent of a West End show.

But, as the door opened and a beautiful woman welcomed them in, Alex had to admit that barmy as her uncle's methods were, they worked. Sherlock kept his hand pressed over his bleeding cheek –courtesy of John – and kept up his posh, tearful voice.

"Thank you," Sherlock said thickly, through his tears.

"I – I saw it all happen. It's okay, I'm a doctor," John assured her as he closed the door.

When the woman's gaze fell upon Alex, she cleared her throat, "I'm his daughter. Dad didn't want to leave me outside on my own, I hope you don't mind."

Alex conveniently left out whom she was the daughter of, and her hair was pulled back into her hat so she could pass for John's.

"No, not at all," the woman smiled, revealing pearly white teeth.

"Now, have you got a first aid kit?" John asked.

"In the kitchen."

"Come on," John tapped her on the shoulder and she followed suit. Apparently today she was going to be John's.

As she left, she heard Sherlock be led into the sitting room. The kitchen was large and modern with every surface polished clean and scrubbed within an inch of its life. It reminded her a lot of Connie Prince's house, oh so long ago.

"Got it," John retrieved the first aid kit from one of the cupboards and they began to proceed back to where Sherlock had been led. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

"Yeah, I wouldn't bet your life on that… He's in there."

Suddenly, John, who was leading, stopped dead in the doorway of the sitting room.

"John?" Alex asked warily.

He didn't answer, he just averted his gaze to the floor, making Alex's heart begin to race.

"John, what's wrong?"

She ran the last few steps to the door and her eyes widened. There, stood over her uncle, was Irene Adler in all her naked beauty, Sherlock's dog collar in between her teeth. Bypassing John, Alex walked into the room with a smile, holding out her hand.

"Irene Adler, I presume," she grinned, casting a look towards her silent uncle. "I see you've made an impression on Sherlock. Not many people can silence him like that."

Irene took her hand with an impressed smirk, "I take it you're one of these people, Alex. Though I suppose you don't silence him by taking your clothes off."

"That would be very, very wrong and would probably just give him palpitations," Alex waved a hand in front of her glaring uncle. "You've really stunned him."

Irene's smirk stayed in place as she dropped Alex's hand and gestured to the sofa. Alex obligingly sat next to Sherlock as Irene dropped into the arm chair.

"I've missed something, haven't I?" John managed to get out, keeping his gaze on the bowl in his hand.

"Please, sit down, Doctor Watson. Oh, if you'd like some tea, I can call the maid."

"I had some at the Palace," Sherlock murmured.

"I know."

"Clearly."

"I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone's interested," John added awkwardly as both Irene and Sherlock stared at each other like alphas in a pack fighting for dominance.

Alex waved another hand in front of Sherlock's face, but he batted it away, still staring intently at Irene with a look of confusion on his face. He then looked up to John – who frowned at him – and then back to Irene.

"D'you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?" Irene said, as if knowing what Sherlock was struggling with. "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?"

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it's yourself," she leant forward with a predatory grin, "Oh, and _somebody_ loves you. Why, if _I_ had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too."

John forced a humourless laugh for a moment before stopping abruptly, "Could you put something on, please? Err, anything at all. A napkin?"

"Why? Are you feeling exposed?"

"I don't think John knows where to look," Sherlock put in, shrugging off his coat and handing it to the woman.

Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Sherlock didn't hand his coat to just anyone.

Irene bypassed the coat and went to stand directly in front of John, purposely quirking her lips teasingly. John kept his line of sight to her face and willed himself not to let his gaze wander below her neckline.

"Oh come on, stop torturing the poor man," Alex remarked, standing and taking Sherlock's coat from his hand and physically forcing it onto Irene's shoulders.

"Hm," Irene hummed. "Am I being too mean?"

"You can be as mean as you want to Sherlock over there 'cause it's refreshing to see him actually react to a woman for once, but I happen to quite like John."

"And you don't like your uncle?"

"Meh, he's average," Alex shot him a wink to show that she was joking.

"You Holmeses are so different from each other," Irene said with a note of fascination in her voice.

"So that means you've met the other one," Alex frowned. Mycroft hadn't said anything about that…

Irene just shrugged mysteriously and perched herself on the sofa, taking off her shoes.

"Well, never mind. We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me – I need to know. How was it done?" she asked, looking over to the fireplace at which Sherlock was standing.

"What?"

"The hiker with the bashed-in head. How was he killed?"

Sherlock's eyebrows dipped in confusion, "That's not why I'm here."

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's never gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway…"

Alex admired Irene's self-confidence.

"That story's not been on the news yet. How do you know about it?" John questioned.

"I know one of the policemen. Well, I know what he _likes_," Irene smiled suggestively.

"Oh… and you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories – _and_ detectives. Brainy's the new sexy," she lingeringly glanced over at Sherlock and Alex had repress a groan. Oh dear God no…

"Positionofthecar," Sherlock slurred in one long word, causing the other three occupants in the room to goggle at him in disbelief and – Irene – amusement.

Sherlock rapidly regained his composure, "Err, the position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

"Okay, tell me: how was he murdered?"

"He wasn't."

"You don't think it was murder?"

"I _know_ it wasn't."

"How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room," Sherlock said simply.

"Okay, but how?"

"So they _are_ in this room. Thank you. John, man the door. Let no-one in. Alex, you go with him."

They both got to their feet and Alex faced them mock-sternly as she reached the door.

"Now you two behave, I don't want cousins any time soon," she waggled her finger accusingly at them and ducked out before Sherlock's glower burnt her.

John chuckled lightly next to her as they shut the door. Alex reached into her inside pocket and retrieved the lighter that Sherlock had taken from Harry earlier that day. John grinned a little at seeing it, taking a magazine from the low table in the hallway and rolling it up.

"Ready?" Alex asked.

John nodded, moving his hand further down the paper as Alex flicked the lighter catch and held it to the sheets. They immediately began to smoulder and a steady trickle of smoke began to rise.

"Yey," Alex drew out quietly.

The smoke alarm reacted as was planned, letting out a high pitched bleep. Once it began, both began to blow on the magazine to try and put it out. Alex could hear Sherlock and Irene talking in the next room, but their voices were muffled by the wall. At least until Sherlock shouted,

"All right, you can turn it off now!"

"Yeah, we're trying!" John shouted back, pulling the magazine towards him and whacking it against the table it had come from.

Alex pulled a face as it left a long scorch mark in the polished wood. But, that was the last of her worries as a large bang sounded, and the fire alarm shattered. John and Alex looked up in alarm as four men ran down the stairs, pistols at the ready.

The second man down grabbed Alex and the third grabbed John. Alex shouted a 'hey!' of protest, but was silenced by the man's hand. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of his hand and decided against licking it – she really didn't want to taste _that._

"Thanks," John said sarcastically, nodding to the fire alarm.

The ring leader just smiled as he shouldered the door open into the living room, John and Alex being shoved in roughly after them.

Sherlock frowned as Irene quickly jumped up off the sofa in shock. Alex gave Sherlock a small nod to show that she was okay.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John hastily rushed out.

"Ms Adler, on the floor," the ringleader – Neilson, one of his men had addressed him as – ordered.

Irene, with a gun to her head, slowly knelt on the floor with her hands raised.

"Don't you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked lightly.

"No, sir, I want you to open the safe," Neilson replied irritably, pointing his gun at him.

Alex was vaguely aware of the cold steel against the back of her head too, but she was remarkably calm. She had no reason to be worried when Sherlock had _that _face. The face that showed that he had a plan.

"American. Interesting. Why would _you_ care?" he asked, glancing at Irene, who looked away.

Glaring at her, Alex struggled just slightly against the man's hold. He tightened his arms, growling a little as he pressed the gun further into her hair.

"Stay still."

"Sir, the safe, _now_, please," Neilson barked.

"I don't know the code," Sherlock said, his gaze on Alex.

"We've been listening. She said she told you."

"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she _didn't_," Sherlock retorted.

Neilson shifted impatiently, "I'm assuming I missed something. From your reputation, I'm assuming you _didn't_, Mr Holmes."

"For God's sake. _She's_ the one who knows the code. Ask her!" John exploded angrily, jerking his head to Irene.

"Yes, sir," Neilson responded condescendingly. "She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman."

"Mr Holmes doesn't –"

"Shut up," Neilson interrupted ferociously. "Shut up. One more word out of you – just one – and I will decorate that wall with the insides of your head. That, for me, will not be a hardship."

Sherlock's glower tripled in intensity and Alex kicked her captor in the shin. He swore and tapped her head not-so-lightly with the gun.

"Mr Archer," Neilson continued. "At the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson and Miss Holmes."

Alex sent John a panicked look before her head was pushed forwards and the gun moved from her temple to the back of her skull, her hat falling to the floor. The calm that she had felt earlier had begun to wane – did Sherlock _really _know what he was doing. Was that panic in his face? Before her head was forced down, she had taken note of the way his face looked; his eyebrows raised and drawn together. That was fear wasn't it? She snuck another look up and saw that Sherlock was looking between her and John. There was definite fear on his face. Not enough for someone like Neilson to see, but to Alex, who had spent almost every day of her life with him, she saw it.

"What?!" John exclaimed as his head was thrust forwards too.

"I don't have the code," Sherlock said quietly, just enough for Neilson to hear.

"One."

Alex closed her eyes and tried not to shake. _Sherlock's got it all worked out, he always does, he _always _does. Trust him, just trust him._

"I don't know the code," Sherlock repeated a little more forcefully.

"Two."

_Trust him, trust him, trust him! For God's sake, Sherlock!_

"She didn't tell me," Sherlock's voice rose in pitch and volume. "I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any… second… now…"

Irene glanced down, then looking to Alex and John in a silent apology.

"Three."

Alex tensed, screwing up her face and tucking her chin into her chest, a tiny, _tiny _whimper escaping her. Next to her, John hunched over, waiting for the impact with a look of disbelief on his face. This was it. A last light-hearted thought from Alex was 'I'm so going to haunt Mycroft for sending us here'.

"No, stop!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, his eyes wide and on Alex's braced form.

Neilson held up his hand to stop his gunmen.

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He raised his finger to the keypad of the safe hesitantly. Alex couldn't see, not daring to open her eyes, but she could hear the soft bleep as numbers were punched in. Finally, there was a noisy click and a rush of air as the safe unlocked.

Alex opened her eyes, emphatically sighing a breath of relief. Her head lolled towards John, making sure he wasn't hurt. He gave her a small nod. Both looked as shaken as each other.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes. Open it, please."

Brow creased, Alex sent a suspicious look to Irene. The respect and amusement the woman had garnered from her was now replaced with severe distrust. Irene ignored Alex's stare and continued to watch Sherlock's movements carefully.

He grasped the handle of the safe and glimpsed at Irene from the corner of his eye. She matched his gaze. Alex frowned at the exchange… what was Irene trying to tell him?

Sherlock's face returned to its normal impassiveness and Alex knew she could relax again. _That _was the face she was used to. He definitely had a plan now. He turned back to the safe.

"Vatican cameos," he said directly and opened the safe.

At hearing this, Alex and John barely had time to gasp before they dived to the floor. The piercing shot that Alex was waiting for was dampened by the silencer of the pistol inside the safe, but the thud of the body falling on behind her was loud enough.

Alex recognised the body as John's captor and didn't have time to think before hers had fired his gun. The coffee table exploded in a shower of glass, a shard nicking Alex's finger and John's arm. The man, seeing he had failed, moved forward to have another attempt. At this point, John had crawled behind the man's knees and nodded to Alex. Alex then stood (avoiding his gun) and pushed him backwards. He fell over John's body and cracked his head off the wooden armrest. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

John straightened up and slapped Alex's outstretched hand with a giddy, confused giggle.

"Primary school pranks are the way to go," Alex smiled.

"That's what I always told you," Sherlock added, looking down at the also unconscious Neilson (whom he had knocked out with his own gun).

Only Irene's holder remained, standing stock-still and shocked into paralysis.

"D'you mind?" Sherlock asked.

"Not at all," Irene responded, snatching the gun from his loose hand and smacking it across his face. He crumpled.

John checked over his guard and reported, "He's dead."

"Thank you," Irene said to Sherlock, still keeping the gun trained on her guard. "You were very observant."

"Observant?" John and Alex asked at the same time.

"I'm flattered," Irene continued, ignoring them.

"Don't be," Sherlock said, beginning to walk towards the door. "There'll be more of them. They'll be keeping an eye on the building."

John followed him into the hallway and out onto the porch, but Alex hung back by the living room door, keeping an eye on Irene, but hidden behind the wall. As soon as the boys (and she presumed, Alex) disappeared, Irene stumbled over the bodies of the men and ran over to the safe. She peered in on her tiptoes and Alex heard a few gunshots and a breathy,

"No…"

Alex jumped as a hand tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around to face Sherlock with a somewhat proud smirk on his face.

"It's not nice to spy," he whispered.

"And who told me that?"

"Mycroft."

"Exactly."

Sherlock's smirk widened as he ruffled her hair. His hand went to his pocket and returned with, probably, Irene's phone. He flipped and caught it again.

"Better be polite and say goodbye. Go upstairs; I'm sure you'll find something you like. Just take it," he told her.

"Are you encouraging me to steal now?" Alex raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock shrugged, "Call it compensation."

Alex chuckled and gave him a playful nudge in the direction of Irene. John reappeared from the porch, glaring angrily after her uncle.

"Gunshots him?" Alex asked.

John just nodded, "I'm gonna take a look upstairs, see if there are any more GI Joes skulking around."

"Sherlock told me to go up there and take what we want, so go wild."

"What?"

"He called it compensation, but I doubt that'll go down well in court so I wouldn't recommend it," Alex grinned. "I'll go wait outside for the police."

John sighed, daring a look back in the living room and turning back to Alex, "Was I the only one who doubted him for a minute in there?"

Alex grimaced and nodded dejectedly, "I know what you mean. I…" she shrugged, unable to find the right words. "I guess we just have to trust that he knows what he's doing, even when we know he doesn't. Easier said than done, eh?"

John looked pensive as he gave her brief, unsure smile and turned up the stairs.

Alex, too glimpsing into the living room for a moment, then walked out of the hallway and onto the pavement to wait.

Though Sherlock now had the camera phone that Mycroft wanted and the case should be over, Alex had a niggling feeling that it wasn't. She had never known a woman – par her Grandma and Mum – that could silence Sherlock Holmes, surely the only one that could couldn't be just a five minute case. All of the hype, Buckingham Palace, the royal frolicking, Mycroft calling them in the hour of need. Things like that didn't just get resolved in a quick visit.

Alex was startled from her troubled musings by a rustling sound. Frowning, she looked around. The paths were empty with people being at work and school, and the house was out of the way of the main tourist areas.

Her head snapped to the left as it sounded again, and this time, Alex saw a head disappear around the side alley containing the fire escape for the house. Clenching her fists and readying herself, Alex cautiously approached the alley.

"Hello?" she called, inching closer.

Retreating shuffles.

Alex moved closer.

"Just come on out and there doesn't need to be a fuss."

Just as she was peeking around the corner, someone grabbed her by the lapel of her jacket and thrust her heavily against the wall. She let out a surprised cry and looked up through her hair to see a rabid-looking man staring viciously at her. An unkempt beard hung from his chin and every inch of his skin was dirty.

"You," he snarled.

"What?" Alex breathed. "Who-who are you?"

His face was creased with shock and disbelief, "It's you, you fucking bitch. I can't believe… You fucked up my life!"

"I don't know –" she was cut off as he slammed her back against the wall, knocking the wind out of her.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he hollered.

"Look if this is to do with Irene Adler, I –"

"Who's Irene Adler? I don't know an Irene Adler. I've been sleeping here for a few days away from the cameras when I saw you, you fucking whore," he slammed her onto the bricks again. "Alessandra Holmes. I couldn't believe it! I couldn't fucking believe it! You've ruined everything and you're walking around like –"

He suddenly stopped and Alex's breathing increased. The sound of sirens filled the air and the man turned to her with unimaginable fury and fear. He growled a low, painful growl and released her arms. He then sprinted further into the alley, hopping off the bars of the fire escape and over the fence at the back. He left his dirty blue sleeping bag behind him.

Alex put a hand to her sweaty forehead. She stumbled out of the alleyway and saw that Lestrade's personal car was already parked up and the sirens belonged to supporting officers. The door to Irene's house opened and John and Lestrade emerged, holding a barely conscious and mumbling Sherlock. Alex ran towards them.

"Sherlock? What happened? Is he okay?!" she asked frantically as John manoeuvred him into the seat of Lestrade's car.

"Don't worry, he's fine. This Adler woman drugged him," Lestrade explained, looking faintly amused and glancing down at his phone. "He's a little illiterate now."

"But he's gonna be okay, I mean, no long-term effects, right John?" she continued to ask, not looking any less panicked.

"He'll be absolutely fine after a good night's sleep," John assured her as he climbed into Lestrade's car. "Are you coming?"

"Err, no. As long as Sherlock's gonna be okay?" John nodded with a confused frown. "I'm gonna take a ride with one of your officers if that's okay."

Lestrade nodded, "After all you Holmeses have done, I'm sure we can play chauffeur."

"Wait, where're you going?" John asked.

"I just need to look something up at the Yard."

"Well I'll drive you back home later," Lestrade offered kindly, looking between John and Alex.

"Thanks, Greg. I'll see you later, John."

He nodded and Lestrade gave her a smile as he slipped into his own car. She waved as they drove away to 221B, her hand immediately dropping as they left.

The police usually had tabs on the majority of the homeless in some form – usually for a petty theft or a concerned bystander – and what he had said 'away from the cameras' suggested that he didn't exactly have a clean record.

She needed to find out who he was. If he knew her real name, what else did he know about her? And what did she ruin? And if he knew her, what did he know about her family? The good ones, and the bad ones.

She hoped once she found out who he was, she would get her answers. She would worry about Irene Adler later. Anyway, Sherlock and John were onto that. She had something else to worry about.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, rycbar15, irrational bookworm, fastreader12, AzureTheVampire, rose and sherloki'd, Classified Case, E I Cochrane, and Lyriel for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies have already been sent to you :)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	79. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything to do with the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! I'm actually on time for once with this update! And the last few I think :). On another note, I, the girl who can't work computers to save her life, now has Tumblr! My friend set it up for me when people began asking me if I had it. The link is on my profile and I post all things fanfiction! Have a look and tell me if I'm completely failing or not haha!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She needed to find out who he was. If he knew her real name, what else did he know about her? And what did she ruin? And if he knew her, what did he know about her family? The good ones, and the bad ones._

_If he was to do with Mycroft or Sherlock, she would find out and tell them when Irene Adler's case had blown over. But if it was to do with the other side of her family... she had no idea what she would do. But she needed to know. She would worry about Irene Adler later. Anyway, Sherlock and John were onto that. She had something else to worry about._

Alex groaned, resisting the urge to pound her already pounding head off the metal filing cabinet that she was rifling through. It was getting late now; the automatic lights in Scotland Yard had switched on an hour ago.

Yawning, Alex slid the drawer into the cabinet and retreated to Greg's desk – he was busy in a meeting – and wiggled the mouse of his computer. She typed in his password that Sherlock had 'accidently' told her and began to search through electronic files for a face match.

The mystery man hadn't been reported in the last few days, that much she knew for sure. She had thoroughly searched through those records and no one matching his aesthetics, age or ethnicity had been filed.

Tapping the mouse with considerably more force than necessary, Alex brought up the next file. What she saw made her frustration ebb in the stead of a wave of sadness.

It was a picture of Arnold Harrison from the 'Pronged Puppeteer'. The late Arnold Harrison. The blood on his face and the blue in his lips authenticated that quite clearly. Alex scrolled down the file and winced a little as she saw his ex-wife, scarlet running through the creases in her elderly skin.

"Got into my computer again?" Lestrade asked from behind her.

Alex didn't jump, nor move to turn off the monitor. She just kept looking at the screen with a sad grimace.

She felt Lestrade take the seat opposite, where _she _would usually sit. There was a moment of quiet.

"What're you trying to find here, Alex? If it's to do with Miss Adler, I'm sure Sherlock and John know what's going on and don't need you over here exhausting yourself –"

"Who's this?" Alex asked as she stopped scrolling at an unfamiliar photograph. She hadn't been listening. "I don't recognise him from the puppet case."

Lestrade huffed a little at being ignored and interrupted, but leant over the desk to look at the screen.

"Uh, that's Jack Hanna, I believe. He's the friend of Darren Howell, the murderer. He's dead."

Alex nodded, remembering his name. He was the guy that had kept Howell sane until he had died, tipping Howell over the edge. With a sigh, she closed down the files and rested her forehead on her arms on the desk.

"It's not, by the way," Alex said, her voice muffled by her forearms.

"Not what?"

"Not to do with Irene Adler. I'm here for something else. Or I _was. _Didn't get anywhere," she grumbled.

"Well who are you looking for? Don't deny that you're looking for someone, otherwise you wouldn't be searching through all my files," he gave her a playful stern look. He knew Alex was harmless. To him, anyway.

Alex sat up a little, wondering if she should tell Greg. Deciding that there was no harm, she did, omitting a few details.

"Just… this guy came up to me today. Homeless. He, err, said some weird stuff. I just wanted to check him out, see who he is. I thought he might have a criminal record for something or other, he looked the type to have one," she explained.

Lestrade looked thoughtful for a moment, "What did he say to you?"

"My name. Freaked me out a little bit," she admitted.

"Alex, most people in London know your name. Thanks to John's blog and your uncle's… trade, you've been all over the papers. It's no wonder someone's recognised you," Lestrade said reasonably.

"But he… he was strange. My judge of character's pretty good and I didn't like that guy."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at her, "So you're going through sensitive, highly _private _files because you just don't like a man?"

Alex sighed again, "I know it sounds ridiculous. I'm making something huge out of something tiny."

Lestrade gave her a smile, "Come on, it's getting late. I'll drive you home on my way back."

She smiled back gratefully and rose from the chair. Lestrade held open the door for her as they left and headed for his car.

She wasn't going to forget about this, but maybe putting it to the back of her mind would be the best thing. Chances are they would never meet again. And Greg was right; most of the people in London knew about her and her family. It was probably just a drunk.

* * *

><p>"Have a productive time with Greg?" John asked from his chair in living room as Alex walked through the door.<p>

Alex shrugged as she dropped into Sherlock's chair tiredly.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Sleeping, now. He woke up about an hour ago mumbling about Irene but he went back off," John informed her. "It's strange to see him like that."

Alex nodded, "It isn't the first time he's been incoherent."

John frowned at her curiously, but she didn't elaborate.

"Well I'm off to bed. You going soon?" he asked.

Alex shook her head, "I'm gonna stay here. It's closer if Sherlock wakes up and it's surprisingly comfy."

"Sleep well," he said jokingly as he left.

"'Night."

She stayed up for another hour or two, just mulling over things in her head. But she wasn't lying when she said Sherlock's armchair was comfortable, and soon curled up and fell asleep with her head on the armrest.

When she awoke the next morning, a throw had been put over her body as a blanket and a pillow under her head. She groaned as her joints clicked and neck ached, but she pulled herself up regardless.

"Morning."

Alex blinked blearily up at Sherlock, who was sat at the table with John eating breakfast. Mrs Hudson was milling around making more eggs in the kitchen, and Mycroft, of all people, was regarding her from the corner of his eye.

"Hello, Mycroft. How nice of you to stop by for breakfast," Alex said, walking over to sit at the table next to Sherlock.

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm there, dear niece?" Mycroft asked with his eyebrows almost at his hairline.

"Well you did almost get me killed yesterday," she reminded him, nicking a piece of Sherlock's toast.

"That was completely unintentional. It's an important case, _highly _important in fact."

"It 'is'?" Sherlock spoke up. "Surely it should be 'was'. The photographs are completely safe."

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker," Mycroft added, looking less than pleased.

"She's not interested in blackmail. She wants ... protection for some reason. The case is over. I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs?" Mycroft snapped. "Our hands are tied."

Sherlock smirked lightly, "She'd applaud your choice of words. You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'Get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft," Sherlock smiled wryly.

"Though not the way _she_ treats royalty," John continued.

Alex laughed through her mouthful of toast, earning a reproachful look from Mycroft, to which she responded with a petty eye roll.

Sherlock's phone buzzed and the sound of a woman's breathy moan sounded.

Alex promptly choked on her toast. Both John and Mycroft frowned deeply. Sherlock paused in his action of reading the newspaper, freezing for a moment.

"What was that?" John asked.

"Text," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, passing it off as if it were nothing as he picked up the phone.

"No, what was that noise?" Alex reiterated.

Sherlock ignored them both, passing his eyes fleetingly over the text and placing his phone back down on the table. He turned to Mycroft, changing the subject swiftly.

"Did you know there were other people after her too, Mycroft, before you sent John, _our niece, _and I in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess," he glared at his brother.

"Yeah thanks for that Mycroft," John said sarcastically.

"Y'know most parents just give time-outs if they're annoyed with their child," Alex remarked with an insincere smile.

Before Mycroft could reply with what would no doubt be a _glittering _excuse, Mrs Hudson entered the room, placing a plate of bacon in front of Alex. The younger girl thanked her, giving her a side-hug. Mrs Hudson returned it, all the while glowering at Mycroft.

"It's a disgrace, sending your little brother and niece into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes," she scolded, beginning to clear up the empty glasses.

"Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson," Mycroft retorted nastily, looking away in disinterest.

A furious chorus of "Mycroft!", "Oi!" and "Hey!" were relayed back to him, Mrs Hudson looking at him sternly with her hand on Sherlock's arm.

Mycroft looked vaguely surprised at Sherlock's strong reaction but nevertheless plastered a fake smile on his face.

"Apologies," he nodded to Mrs Hudson.

"Thank you," she replied curtly to the elder Holmes before taking the glasses into the kitchen to wash up.

"Though do, in fact, shut up," Sherlock said.

"Git," Alex muttered under her breath, still giving Mycroft a dark look.

At that moment, Sherlock's phone decided to groan again. He glanced down at it casually, reading the next text. Mrs Hudson turned from the kitchen with a light blush on her cheeks.

"Ooh. It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?"

After a second, Sherlock continued to speak, still ignoring any mention of the noise his phone was emitting.

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she _will_ do as far as I can see," he said to Mycroft.

Mycroft looked down at his shoes briefly before meeting Sherlock's eye, somewhat petulantly saying, "I can put maximum surveillance on her." as if to say there isn't any case that he can do nothing with.

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is 'TheWhipHand'."

"Ooh, now _there's _someone I'd like to follow," Alex grinned. Though she didn't trust the woman as far as she could spit, she supposed some hilarious tweets would be sourced from The Woman.

"Yes. Most amusing," Mycroft said humourlessly, glancing down at his ringing phone. "Excuse me."

He walked out of the room to take the call. Alex noticed Sherlock's eyes following him right to the door as he attempted to eavesdrop, and she kicked him in the shin. He grunted but stopped trying to listen in0.

As Mycroft left, John leaned back in his chair, looking curiously at the Sherlock's mobile on the table.

"Why does your phone make that noise?"

"What noise?"

"_That_ noise – the one it just made."

"It's a text alert. It means I've got a text," Sherlock said, as if he were speaking to a three year old.

"Hmm. Your texts don't usually make that noise."

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise," Sherlock said in false light-heartedness. Of course with annoyed undertones. Alex had just accepted that as his voice.

"Like when I used to ring you from my old phone and Pepper Pig used to play. Shame I threw that into a bus," Alex trailed off wistfully. She really loved that phone.

"Hmm. So every time they text you…"

Directly on time, the phone moaned again.

"It would seem so," Sherlock replied shortly, reading the latest text.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit? At my time of life," Mrs Hudson said from the kitchen.

Sherlock put the phone down, picking back up his newspaper and turning to the article he was reading.

"I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" John asked with a sly grin.

Alex hid her amused smile.

"I'll leave you to your deductions," Sherlock replied, lifting the newspaper up to cover his face.

"I'm not stupid, you know," John said seriously now, looking down at his own paper.

"Where _do_ you get that idea?"

"Sherlock, be nice," Alex warned in a long-suffering voice.

Mycroft's voice became clearer as he emerged back in the doorway from taking his call. Alex, and the other inhabitants of the room, only caught the tail-end of the conversation.

"Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later."

Mycroft pocketed his phone and resumed his place stood next to the table.

"What else does she have?" at Mycroft's confused look, Sherlock threw down his paper in annoyance and elaborated. "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There's more."

Sherlock stood, seemingly facing off his brother. Alex began to also rise from her chair, foreboding settling inside her. The perfect way to start the day was with a giant family fight.

"_Much _more," Sherlock continued, almost nose-to-nose with his brother. "Something big's coming, isn't it?"

Mycroft retained his stony persona, "Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this."

"Oh, _will _I?" Sherlock countered challengingly.

"Yes, Sherlock, you _will."_

Sherlock searched his brother's eyes for a few moments, saw he wasn't going to budge, and shrugged walking over to the window. Alex breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend," Mycroft nodded goodbye to Alex who returned it with a little smile.

"Do give her my love," Sherlock said, picking up his violin and beginning to play God Save the Queen.

John chuckled while Alex grinned fondly. Mycroft just rolled his eyes at the impertinence of his brother before taking his leave.

Once he did, Sherlock abruptly stopped playing and fell into his chair, donning his 'thinking face'.

"Well that's him not moving for the rest of the day," John surmised, looking at the consulting detective.

Alex made a noise of agreement. She took a sip of her tea and pulled Sherlock's newspaper towards her. As she scanned over the front page, she gasped, causing the two men in the room to look to her in alarm.

"Have you seen the date?" she said, practically poking John in the eye with the paper. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's 22nd of December! It's nearly Christmas. How on Earth did I forget about Christmas?"

"Oh yeah, I guess things have been really busy around here lately. Are we going to decorate the flat?" John asked.

"Hell yeah!" Alex responded enthusiastically. "Sherlock, the decorations are in the attic, aren't they?"

"Yes. Be careful when you go up there, Mrs Hudson has an aversion to getting rid of anything so you might have to climb over some things," Sherlock warned, waving his hand in the general direction of the door.

Alex grinned, barely listening as she ran out onto the hallway and up into her bedroom. Hers being the highest room, right outside was the hatch to the attic. Positioning her foot on the stair banister, Alex hoisted herself up and pushed the hatch door open before climbing through.

Several hours later, a very dusty and aching Alex returned to the living room, her arms laden with boxes. But she kept smiling through the grime - Christmas was her favourite time of year and she couldn't believe she had forgotten it.

A combined effort of John and Alex managed to prise Sherlock from his seat and help. From there, things started to pick up pace and soon Operation Grotto (dubbed by Alex) was a-go-go. Lights were traced around the window ledges and mirror, making the entire room glow green, red and white. Various miscellaneous Christmassy objects from Alex's childhood also made appearances, making her beam with delight and nostalgia when she saw them.

And finally, when it was time for the tree, Sherlock hoisted Alex onto his shoulders – despite Alex's protests that she was too heavy – so that she could place the faded and cracked yet still traditional snowflake on the top of the tree.

Once they were done, Alex stepped back to admire their handy work. She smiled and rested her head against Sherlock's arm. He, as usual, didn't have a hair out of place, whereas she looked like she had been dragged through the tree they had just put up.

"This place looks amazing," she said, wiping a smudge of dust from her cheek.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, "It looks too happy."

John looked at him in exasperation.

"That's what you used to say about Mum's house," Alex grinned as she remembered. "You said she painted the walls too bright and everything was too tidy."

"Because it _was! _You might have been too young to remember the time when she painted the entire house bright yellow."

Alex's eyes widened as she gave a chuff of laughter, "What?!"

"You were only a baby and May went through a phase of…"

Both Sherlock and Alex wandered off into the kitchen as Sherlock told his tale, Alex hanging on his every word with a bright beam on her face. It wasn't often she was told stories about her mother that she didn't already know about.

John watched them laugh with a smile, taking a drink of his tea. It was strange to celebrate Christmas so widely since he had never been around any children or teenagers since he and Harry had been young. Strange, but nice.

He looked around the illuminated flat and smiled to himself again, sinking into his armchair and feeling that if it hadn't been before, 221B really had become a home to him.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, FlewandFlied, Lyriel, simplemusings12, Crossing the Galaxy, emilybrock101, Occea, Eternal Cat Moon, ShatteredBlue221, rose and sherloki'd, and kitty cat wings for reviewing!<strong>

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**Abby**

**X**


	80. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I have literally been trying to upload this all day but it kept coming up with numbers and symbols and then the computer crashed and it turned everything to HTML tags and phew... Sorry for the lack of update last week, everything has been very busy and internet is scarce. However, this is the longest chapter yet! Whoo! Almost double the usual!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_John watched them laugh with a smile, taking a drink of his tea. It was strange to celebrate Christmas so widely since he had never been around any children or teenagers since he and Harry had been young. Strange, but nice._

_He looked around the illuminated flat and smiled to himself again, sinking into his armchair and feeling that if it hadn't been before, 221B really had become a home to him._

Alex had been through some terrible things. Some awful, awful things would turn the strongest stomach, and that never would leave her at peace. She would always remember the horrible things that had been inflicted upon her, but she never thought anything could compare to this:

Harrods on Christmas Eve.

The previous year, she had been watching the London riots from afar. Now, she felt like she was right in the middle of it. And weirdly enjoying every crafty elbow to the ribs or the distant catcalls of two women fighting over a plush reindeer, insisting that their toddlers would shank them in their beds if they didn't get the said toy.

"We should change our choice of venue to here next time we want a reunion, father," she murmured under her breath as she managed to squeeze into the ridiculously long line.

Still, she supposed that's what she deserved for leaving everything until last minute. She had managed to buy what she needed, though. A snazzy Christmas jumper for John, a 5+ Fischer Price chemistry set for Sherlock as a joke, a _real _chemistry set for Sherlock, some cinnamon scented candles for Mrs Hudson, a Mr Grumpy mug for Mycroft– he was always complaining that his staff kept nicking and infecting his plain one –, some fluffy pink hand cuffs for Greg, and a pair of diamond earrings for Molly. All on Mycroft's credit card, of course. In the words of Sherlock 'call it compensation'.

As the line slowly trickled forwards, there was a disturbance behind Alex, causing someone to fall into her back and swear quietly. She turned around to apologise – though it wasn't her fault- but he beat her to it.

"I'm so sorry! I've got no balance whatsoever. I didn't mean to –"

"It's fine!" Alex cut him off with a smile. "Honestly, a bruised foot is nothing compared to what was happening in Kid Korner over there."

The boy nodded fervently, "I know. The parents are worse than the kids! I swear some woman gave someone a black eye over a cuddly Labrador."

Alex laughed. The boy was slightly taller than her with round glasses on the bridge of his nose and a shy smile on his lips. He was wearing a geeky Christmas jumper that his mother presumably forced him into and his arms were laden with presents. Alex motioned to them with her head.

"Last minute shopping?"

He nodded, "Yeah. I've been kind of busy these last few weeks and time just caught up. I have four little sisters and a little brother, each as demanding as the next. You can imagine what's on their wish lists."

"Hmm," Alex winced theatrically. "Ouch. Bet that's got you into the Christmas spirit."

"Completely," he deadpanned.

They both chuckled again. This light-hearted chatter carried on for the next two hours as they finally managed to get to the front of the queue. Strangely, it had only seemed like half of that time. Then again, eye-spy, three-truths-and-a-lie, this-is-a-thing, and shouting bingo every time a distraught middle-aged woman walked past had a tendency to speed things up.

Once out of the shop Alex looked up with an exaggerated sigh, "I thought I'd never see the sky again."

"Yep, I thought we wouldn't be home in time for Christmas," the boy – Ryan as Alex found out – added.

"I'm pretty sure that's a quote from a Christmas film but I'm not sure which one."

"I think it's from all of them," Ryan laughed, Alex giggling along with him.

She smiled softly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He shuffled awkwardly, still shyly grinning. He cleared his throat and fumbled around with one of his bags. He retrieved the receipt and pulled out a pen from his pocket, writing on the back.

"This is, err, my number if you… wanted to… call it…" he stumbled, holding out the paper.

Alex took it before her mind registered what she was doing. She observed his neat handwriting and the hesitant X he had signed it with. She could feel herself blushing but kept hold of the little square of paper gently.

"Thanks, I will," she nodded. "Hold out your hand, I'll write my landline."

He handed her the pen and she copied down her number in the neatest possible handwriting, trying not to notice the warmth of his skin. She finished and handed back the pen, giggling clumsily when they looked at each other.

"Well… have a good Christmas."

"Yeah!" he replied eagerly, grateful that she had said something he knew how to reply to, "You as well. Thanks for keeping me sane in there."

"You too," she laughed as she flagged a cab. "You want a ride or…?"

"No, thanks. I'll get the bus. See you."

She waved as she slipped into the cab, somehow managing to fit her bags down by her feet.

"221B Baker Street, please."

The cabbie nodded and began to drive. Alex looked back over her shoulder at Ryan stood at the curb, nervously ruffling his messy hair. As they rounded the bend, she looked down at his phone number, gently tracing her finger over the numbers.

_Who cares about Logan anymore?_ she thought with a rebellious grin.

Though she knew that she always would care about him, no matter what he had done. No matter how hard she wanted to feel nothing towards him par cold indifference.

But that didn't mean that she couldn't have a friend again.

As soon as she had walked through the door, Sherlock had, of course, attempted to deduce what presents she had bought everyone. But a petri dish in his direction shut him up swiftly. After that, Christmas Eve was a quiet, relaxed day, enhanced by the added bonus of Mrs Hudson's mince pies and Christmas films.

It was around ten o'clock when Alex bade Sherlock and John goodnight and retired up to her room. She felt like a silly eight-year-old when she found herself too hyped to fall asleep, though, and so chose a book from her shelf and spent the night reading under the covers. The way Christmas Eve night should be spent, in her opinion.

* * *

><p>The way she awoke the next morning was not the conventional way for a child to wake up on Christmas morning. <em>She <em>was woken up by _Sherlock._

"What are doing?" he asked curiously from the doorway, holding an empty cup in his hand.

Alex blinked at him incredulously, wiping her soaking wet hair from her face, "I _was _sleeping until someone threw a mug of water at me!"

"It's a glass actually."

"What?"

"It's a _glass_ of water," Sherlock corrected. "Not a mug. Can't you see that?"

"Sherlock, it's early," Alex whined. "Of course I can't see a hand in front of my face. Half of my brain is still running around in Dreamland."

"Then perhaps I should get some more water…?"

"Shut up!"

"Ah," John's head popped around the corner, his eyes bleary. "I see this is the traditional way that Holmeses start Christmas. Seems a fair representation of every other day of the year."

Alex frowned. Christmas? It was still October wasn't it?

"Ohh," she dragged out, rubbing her face and pulling herself out of bed. "Might've forgotten about today."

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed unappreciatively. "Well there're a pile of presents under a tree that you can't really forget about. It's in the way of the kitchen."

Alex stretched her back and pulled on her dressing gown, "Could it be that Sherlock Holmes was using the kitchen to make food…?"

"No. I was seeing how fluoboric acid reacts with carbonite when heated in a microwave with a nickel catalyst," he said.

"Oh."

The next twenty minutes contained present opening and Sherlock rambling on about his latest finds in the wonderful world of science – from which the aftereffects were currently drying on the wall. John had immediately changed into his new Christmas jumper on unwrapping it, Sherlock had smirked when he opened his new kit (making Alex regret buying it), and Alex herself was overjoyed to see that her present was a photo album.

The album contained photographs of her from being a new-born to a teenager. There were some that she had never seen before, ones of her and her mother. One particular photograph had her laughing for ten minutes straight. It was of a two year-old Alex sat on the shoulders of a highly dismayed-looking Sherlock with cake batter rolling down his face. That was going on her wall.

Throughout the day, Mrs Hudson got steadily more drunk with what she defended as 'the only time she allows herself alcohol on a non-medicinal basis'. Alex just looked on in amusement and exasperation as sherry after sherry was poured.

Around six o'clock, Lestrade came up with a bottle of champagne under his arm. At John's raised eyebrow, he had responded 'well it's the one day of the year isn't it?'. To this, Alex had expressed her thoughts of Mrs Hudson and Lestrade being a tag-team.

Alex had tried to make conversation with John's new girlfriend – only polite – but only got 'yes', 'no' or 'hmm' in response. Alex decided that she was going to be impartial to this one. She was no Sarah, but definitely an improvement on the one with the nose: _Shareen. _Urgh.

While Alex was enduring small talk and trying not to pull out her only-just-grown-back fingernail, Sherlock was entertaining the troops with a fancy rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas on the violin. He finished with an elegant flourish and gave a small bow to his small audience. Alex clapped along with everyone else, laughing and shaking her head at her uncle's showing off.

"Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed whilst she clapped.

"Marvellous," John added as he handed Mrs Hudson a cup of tea to sober her up.

"Good call," Alex muttered to him as he walked past her.

"I wish you could have worn the antlers!" Mrs Hudson continued, her cheeks rosy and voice slurring just a little.

"Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson."

"Don't worry, Mrs H, I'll ambush him later," Alex grinned.

Mrs Hudson smiled dopily at her as Alex felt John's girlfriend shift and stand up, taking the plate of mince pies over to Sherlock, offering him one.

"No thank you, Sarah," Sherlock declined politely.

Alex winced as John almost hurdled over the sofa, putting his arm around his girlfriend, glaring at Sherlock.

"Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names," John assured her.

"Yeah, he still doesn't know Greg's name and he's been friends with him for years," Alex chipped in for John's benefit more than Jeanette's.

"No-no-no, I can get this," Sherlock insisted, whacking his head with the palm of his hand. "No, Sarah was the doctor; and then there was the one with the spots; and then the one with the nose; and then ... who was after the boring teacher?"

Jeanette pursed her lips, looking down-trodden, "Nobody."

Sherlock's face split into a false smile, "Jeanette! Ah, process of elimination."

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose as John steered his girlfriend away, hushing assurances that Sherlock was just an arse, glaring over his shoulder at the said arse.

Thankfully, Sherlock was stopped from embarrassing Jeanette as Molly walked through the living room door, looking beautiful with curled hair and bright makeup. Alex beamed as she saw her, singing merry Christmas to her from her armchair.

Molly manoeuvred the bags in her hands and grinned back at Alex, "Hello, everyone. Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door just to come up."

There was a chorus of cheery greetings, to which Sherlock took to grumbling about like the Grinch he was. Alex made a point to tell him to lighten up.

John, ever the gentlemen, stood by Molly ready to take her coat, "Let me, err ... holy Mary!"

His jaw dropped as Molly removed her scarf and coat, revealing a shimmering, glamourous black dress underneath. Lestrade's face was one of dreamy disbelief, looking the pathologist up and down in appreciation. Alex wolf-whistled.

"Having a Christmas drinkies, then?" Molly asked, glowing under the attention that she rarely got as John took her coat.

"No stopping them, apparently," Sherlock mumbled as he sat down at the computer.

"Sherlock, don't be so anti-social," Alex chastised as she walked over to him whilst Mrs Hudson and Molly chatted.

Sherlock ignored her, "John?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, walking over with a drink in his hand.

"The counter on your blog: still says one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."

Alex narrowed her eyes to read the webpage. God, her eyesight was getting worse.

"Ooh, no! Christmas is cancelled!" John mocked with a fake pout.

Alex grinned.

"And you've got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" Sherlock pointed to the sidebar with outrage written all over his face.

"People like the hat!" John defended. "Alex'll vouch for that."

"Yup, people _lurrvv _the hat."

"No they don't. _What_ people?" he rattled off quickly, engrossing himself back into the website.

John left to join in the conversation between the normal people. So, naturally, Alex stayed with Sherlock. She had her chin resting on her palm with a thoughtful look on her face.

"You reckon John will let me have some cider if I tell him it's apple juice?" she pondered.

"No," Sherlock answered without looking away from the screen.

She huffed, but nothing could ruin the Christmas mood. She would sneak some later. She had a shameful taste for alcohol on special occasions. As long as it wasn't lager, that stuff made her retch.

"Why are you bothered anyway?" she asked.

"What?"

"About the blog. You told me you couldn't care less about it."

Sherlock took a deep breath, as if calming himself and closed the lid of the laptop loud enough and sudden enough to make Alex jump.

"I don't expect you to understand," he said quietly.

"Don't you? You know what I think? I think this is about Irene Adler. You're bothered by her," Alex replied, equally as quietly so the others wouldn't hear them discussing such topics.

"I told you, you don't understand."

"I understand more than you give me credit for. I mean, I had Logan," Alex retorted a little harsher than she meant to.

Sherlock scoffed lightly, "I certainly don't have feelings towards Irene Adler. And anyway, you and Baxter's relationship was the result of teenage juvenility. You could hardly call it a relationship."

Alex stared at Sherlock for a moment, her face blank, "Alright. Whatever you say."

As she stood to join Lestrade in the kitchen, Sherlock groaned, "Alex…"

"Look, it's Christmas, I'm not gonna fight with you today," she gave him a little smile to show that she wasn't angry with him. The smile turned mischievous, "But you so fancy Adler."

Sherlock shook his head at her with disgust. She chuckled and slid onto the arm of the chair occupied by Mrs Hudson. The elderly lady patted her leg in affection. Alex kept the smile in place, but her mind was working. Was her relationship 'the result of teenage juvenility'? She wondered what Logan would be doing now. Probably sat alone in his small flat in Glasgow, watching snow fall outside his window.

_Alex, shut up, stop thinking about him! Forget about him for just one day! This one day of the year just think about _you!

It was such a selfish thought, but a pleasing one. She was entitled to a little selfishness, right?

Leaving that question unanswered for the time being, Alex tuned back into conversation before anyone realised her thoughts were elsewhere.

Apparently they were talking about Harriet, John's sister.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act. She's off the booze," John announced proudly.

"Nope," Sherlock sang under his breath.

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Long may it continue, John," Alex smiled kindly, raising her glass of non-alcoholic Schloer.

"I'd love for you to meet her. She's great when she's not off her head," John replied.

"Yeah, that'd be –"

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly," Sherlock interrupted, obviously paying no heed to the conversation taking place between John and Alex. They exchanged equally exasperated looks but listened to what Sherlock had to say. Sherlock mentioning Molly and boyfriend in the same sentence had a past record of being a disaster. "And you're serious about him."

"Sorry, what?" Molly frowned.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift."

"Take a day off," John muttered tiredly.

"Shut up and have a drink," Lestrade added, sliding a glass across the table to Sherlock as he stood.

"Oh, come on. Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag – perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best," he pointed out.

Alex ashamedly saw herself craning her neck to see what Sherlock was deducing, then realised what she was doing and quickly looked away.

"It's for someone special, then," Sherlock continued as he took the present out of the bag and turned it over in his hands. "The shade of red echoes her lipstick – either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all."

Molly was now extremely red in the face and shuffling awkwardly in her place. But still, Sherlock ploughed on.

"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn; and that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…" Sherlock finally stopped as he looked down at the label on the present.

Alex sighed as she realised whom the present belonged to. Curse Sherlock and his big mouth.

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. _Always," _Molly said tremulously, turning to leave.

Alex was about to jump out of her seat to stop her, but then Sherlock, again, surprised her. He caught Molly's arm as she turned.

"I am sorry. Forgive me."

Every other occupant of the room traded looks of disbelief. Sherlock… apologising?

But that wasn't all, just as Molly was about to accept his apology, he leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, whispering softly,

"Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."

However, the heart-felt, tender moment was shattered by the sound of Sherlock's phone giving off the breathy orgasmic sigh that it had been repeating for the last few days. Unfortunately, Lestrade and Molly didn't know that.

"No! That wasn't ... I – I didn't ..." Molly struggled to defend herself, shocked.

"No, it was me," Sherlock assured her.

"My God, really?!" Lestrade chipped in.

"What?!"

"My _phone," _Sherlock clarified in a long-suffering voice as he reached in his pocket to retrieve the phone.

Alex giggled at the relieved but confused look on Molly and Lestrade's faces.

"Fifty seven?" John asked Alex.

She nodded in confirmation.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked, annoyed.

"Fifty seven of those texts – the ones we've heard."

"Thrilling you've been counting," Sherlock drawled distantly as he walked over to the mantelpiece, knocking Alex's legs out of the way so he could get to it.

He picked something up that Alex couldn't see and paused. As he turned, she swore she saw a flitter of panic before he slipped into the impassive mask that he often held.

"'Excuse me," he said, putting whatever it was he took in his pocket and heading off into the kitchen.

"What – what's up, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I said excuse me."

He closed the door of his bedroom without further comment.

There was an uncomfortable silence before John sighed.

"Better go and see what's happening."

He left after the detective and hovered by the door.

Stirring up conversation again, Lestrade began to talk about funny cases he'd had in his time, some having Molly and Mrs Hudson laughing hysterically. Alex, not so much. She laughed lightly and smiled at the right places, but she kept her eyes on John's back, wondering what was going on with Sherlock.

That engrossed in trying to read John's body language, she jumped a mile when there was a loud thump at the window. When they all looked over, there was just a circle of snow splattered on the glass.

"Snowball fight getting out of hand, I think," Mrs Hudson said with her usual bright smile.

"I'll go see what's going on, might join in," Alex joked as she left the room. Really, she was going to run around the back of the flat and look through Sherlock's window to see what he had taken from the mantelpiece.

However, as she stepped out into the snow, she didn't see the snow-ballers that she had expected to. Leaving her plan to spy on her uncle for now, Alex craned her neck up the street, but found no-one there. But there, on the living room window was the drying remains of a snowball. Odd.

Shrugging, Alex went to shut the door behind her, but stopped. She had written the note on the door earlier that morning.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! COME ON UP!

But now, there was an addition. In neat calligraphy, were the words:

_Will do x_

It was then that Alex noticed the footprints. She could see Lestrade's big with the pointed toes. Molly's little heels. Her own. And someone else's leading to and away from the flat. They were a man's, Alex deduced from the size and style of the shoe.

Now completely abandoning the plan to spy on her uncle, Alex open the door back up quietly and tip-toed up the stairs. The carpet was sodden where everyone had walked into the living room. But Alex wasn't interested in that anymore. She was too busy trailing the wet splodges that led up the stairs to her room.

Heart thudding and dread flowing in her veins, Alex reached her bedroom door and opened it slowly. It was dark, but the snow outside gave it a grey, blue-y glow. She couldn't see anyone there, nothing looked out of place. Relaxing a little, she flipped on the switch and did a double-take.

There, sat on her bed, was a teddy. It was around two feet tall with brown tatters and patches, wearing a pink t-shirt, saying TO A SPECIAL DAUGHTER AT CHRISTMAS.

Alex stared at it, her teeth grinding and eyebrows knitting together in anger. She walked forward and grasped it by the ear, about to throw it in the bin when she saw something sticking out of the pocket on the t-shirt. A note.

Not really believing what she was doing, Alex put the bear on her desk and slid the note out of the pouch.

_Tomlinson's Used Cars. Your friend wants you to have something._

Alex frowned. It was obvious who the note was from and so it should be obvious that she would steer a hundred miles clear from Tomlinson's Used Cars. But those words. A friend wants you to have something. She instantly thought of Logan. All the thoughts of him sat alone in Glasgow were replaced with images of his blood and screams, running around an abandoned funhouse with no one to help him.

"Shut up," Alex muttered to herself, throwing the bear and the note in the bin.

It wouldn't be Logan. It couldn't be. And anyway, if he had been stupid enough to get caught, he would have to find his own way out.

But what if it was someone else? It couldn't be any of her adult friends – they were all in the living room. But what if it was April? Raz?

It couldn't be April either, Alex had spoken to her not an hour ago over the phone. So Raz. It had to be Raz.

Alex rushed to the landline phone on her window sill and typed in Raz's home number. It answered on the first ring.

"_'Ello?_" Raz's voice droned thickly.

"Raz? Are you okay?"

"_M'fine. Uh… yeah, m'fine."_

"Are you at home?"

_"Er… I think so. No, I'm… I'm at Gregor Street."_

That was just a few streets from 221B.

"Raz, listen, come 'round to mine. Y'know where that is, don't you?"

_"Course I do. M'not stupid."_

"No, but you sound drunk. Or high. Probably both," Alex sighed. "Look, just come 'round. I'll get you some Christmas dinner."

_"Sounds good 'Lex."_

Trying not to cringe at the name, Alex put the phone down just as John appeared in the doorway, looking drawn and pale.

"Sherlock and Molly are going to St Bart's. He reckons Irene Adler's dead," John informed her gravely.

Alex groaned, putting a hand to her head, "How is he?"

John shrugged helplessly, "Bad."

She bit her lip, grimacing at what the next few days would bring.

"Listen, I've got a friend coming over. He'll just stay in my bedroom and won't be any trouble. I just need to keep him here for the night," Alex said.

"He?"

"Raz," she explained. "His parents are in prison and he'll just drink himself into a state if he's on his own tonight."

There was a loud bang at the door as it opened and Raz's slurring voice shouted up.

"I'M 'OME!"

"Seems like he already has," John remarked. "You want me to…?"

"No, I'll get him," Alex said breathlessly as she brushed past John and ran down the stairs to meet Raz on the steps.

Before he could utter a hello, she had dragged him by the ear down on to the pavement and scooped a handful of snow down his back. He swore loudly, but Alex shut him up by mushing more onto his face. He coughed and spluttered, shivering.

"You sober enough now?" Alex asked, weighing up another ball of snow in her hand dangerously.

"Yeah, yeah!" Raz hurriedly agreed, shaking his head and making water fly everywhere.

"Good, now come on in –" he caught her arm as she turned to open the door.

"Wait… can't we just go for a walk?"

"Raz, it's dangerous."

"What is?"

"I-I can't tell you. I'm sorry –"

"Pff, then I'm off," Raz spat at her feet at began to walk away.

Alex growled at him and pulled him back by the hood, "I'm trying to keep you safe! I really wish you weren't my friend for both of our sakes but there's nothing I can do now… just… behave!"

Raz pursed his lips, running his tongue over his teeth as he thought. Finally, looking less than pleased about it, he reluctantly agreed.

"Fine. But I'm not goin' inside. I hate being inside. Can't we just go for a ride?"

"Raz, in the state you're in, I wouldn't let you ride a Merry-Go-Round," Alex deadpanned.

"Well _I _don't have to ride…" he looked up at her expectantly, glancing at his motorbike laid on the curb.

"I'm not even old enough to have a licence yet. No way."

"You don't have to go fast! You can go extra slow and go on the backroads where no one'll be. The minute an officer walks by, hop off and say you're walking with it."

"Raz, I can't –"

"I never had you down as a coward, Alex. You were always the first to volunteer back when we were younger. Remember the dodgy zipwire? You were straight up."

"I broke my arm in three places," she reminded him.

"Yeah but you gained everyone's respect. And you still went on it afterwards. What happened to you?"

"I…" Alex swallowed, pushing away the memories that thrashed at the surface of her mind. "Some rough stuff happened. Made me grow up."

Raz watched her for a moment, chewing on his lip, "Is this about Lee?"

Alex winced, an image of Lee lying in the middle of the road in a pool of his own blood flashing in front of her, "Y-Yes."

Raz seemed close to tears, and Alex remembered that the two were best friends. And she had killed him.

"See that bike," Raz pointed to it, his voice catching, "That was 'is. His Dad gave it to me when he died. He used to love it."

"I remember," Alex murmured.

"He'd want you to 'ave some fun, 'Lex. He used to like you, he thought you were tough. Come and 'ave a drink with me. In honour of 'im," Raz pleaded.

Alex closed her eyes briefly, "I can't, Raz. And I know that you're gonna disappear off now because I won't come with you but just... look after yourself, okay? Stay safe."

Raz looked put-out, but nodded, "Yeah. Whatever."

He picked up the motorbike and began to walk away with it, without looking back.

"Merry Christmas," Alex bade him feebly.

He ignored her. She deserved it.

* * *

><p>After Raz had left, Alex had decided to leave John and Jeanette alone and take a cab to St Bart's, anything to stop her from feeling guilty. And she needed to see Sherlock. Make sure he was okay.<p>

She hated hospitals at Christmas. For usually miserable places anyway, hospitals at Christmas was just downright depressing. Families trying to make-do with half-an-hour visiting time and patients so medicated they don't even know who they are anyway.

But worst was the morgue, where Alex was headed. Seeing the families torn apart on the one day that they should be brought together. It was enough to make anyone cry.

Alex started as the door next to her burst open, three paramedics pushing a gurney streaking past her. Alex watched sadly at the sheet covering their face, knowing what that meant. The paramedics stopped as they called for one of the pathologists to allow them entry. Alex caught up and gave one of the doctors a timid smile as they waited.

However, as they began to move again, the gurney brushed her, and a hand fell down from beneath the sheet. Alex was barely able to make out that it had writing on. Numbers. Familiar numbers.

"Stop!" she called to the paramedics. "Wait! Stop!"

They did, one glaring at her angrily and the others frowning in confusion. Alex ran to the hand and knelt beside it.

"What're you –"

Alex stopped breathing. It was her handwriting. Her house number. Tears pooled in her eyes as she straightened up and pulled back the sheet.

She didn't hear the paramedic telling her to move away, her eyes were fixed on the bloodied Christmas jumper, the broken geeky glasses, and the lifeless face of Ryan. The boy who'd given her his number just yesterday.

"Where did you find him?" Alex croaked as she was pushed away and he was covered back up.

"Tomlinson Used Cars garage. Are you family?" a female paramedic asked.

Alex shook her head, a tear falling from her eye, "A f-friend… How?"

The woman licked her lips, giving her a sympathetic smile as she said, "He was shot. It was quick. It looks like suicide."

"Gemma, we have to move," a man informed her.

She gave Alex a pat on the shoulder before disappearing through the double doors, taking Ryan with her.

Alex managed to make it out into the car park in a daze, before falling behind the smoker's shelter and letting out a furious, devastated scream, punching the grass as hard as she could. Ryan. The boy who had shyly given her his number, who was buying Christmas for his siblings, who had played I Spy with her for the better part of a day. He was dead because of her. Yet another one.

There were so many people now dead because of her. Ryan, Lee, Little Laura Mauston.

Alex pulled herself up onto the bench and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her hands. Snow continued to fall, flakes getting entangled in her hair and causing the makeup she had put on for Christmas run down her red cheeks.

She felt someone sit down next to her, but she didn't look up. She didn't need to.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked.

Alex sniffed, forcing her head up, "A friend of mine died tonight."

"So did one of mine."

Alex nodded, "I'm sorry… He was called Ryan. I-I talked to him... So Moriarty killed him. Made it... made it look like suicide. He left me a note telling me to go somewhere. A car garage... I didn't. Then Ryan ended up dead."

Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder. She kept staring forward at the snow, falling heavier by the second.

"We need to go home... Hopefully John hasn't messed up my sock index."

Alex managed a tiny smile at that, taking a deep breath and nodding her head. She watched Sherlock stand and lead the way, but she stopped after a few steps, looking back to the hospital.

"They're never going to know, are they? His family?"

Sherlock looked back, giving her a grimace before shaking his head.

"They're never going to know what really happened to him."

"Would you want to? Between thinking your son committed suicide, and knowing he was killed by a killer that you'll never find, which one you pick?" he asked.

"I don't know…" Alex sighed and walked up to Sherlock's level, resting her head on his side as he wrapped an arm around her. "It's too hard."

"It doesn't get any easier," Sherlock replied as they began to walk back. "I wish I could say it does, but it doesn't."

And it wouldn't.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: E I Cochrane, FlewandFlied, emilybrock101, Eternal Cat Moon, rycbar15, kitty kat wings, ShatteredBlue221, rose and sherloki'd, Loyal Blue and Guest for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you in the next few days as I'm currently using internet at my friend's house.**

**In other news, an author on here called Kitty Kat Wings (with full stops between put my laptop won't let that for some reason) has done some pretty awesome fanart of Alex! You can find the link to her profile on Deviantart on her bio I believe. It's fantastic!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**x**


	81. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Very sorry for the lack of update last week again! I have had no internet but now I have Sky internet! I have seen the light! And, to make up for the slow updates, I am posting a prequel to Exception later on today. It will be a multi-chapter fic of oneshots of Alex's life before the age of fourteen. Interested?**

**_Enjoy:_**

_Previously:_

_"I don't know…" Alex sighed and walked up to Sherlock's level, resting her head on his side as he wrapped an arm around her. "It's too hard."_

_"It doesn't get any easier," Sherlock replied as they began to walk back. "I wish I could say it does, but it doesn't."_

_And it wouldn't._

Upon arriving back at 221B, Alex bade John a dutiful bow of the head and a goodnight before disappearing off to her bedroom, a fragment of the happy, excited girl that she had been just hours previous. Sherlock didn't acknowledge John at all, just headed over to his chair and descending into a silence that would last for a few days. Seeing this, John sighed and went off to his room. At least one out of the three residents of 221B would get some sleep that night.

Alex, after four hours of lying in the dark, finally managed to drift off, tears drying on her cheeks. But they wouldn't be dry for long.

_She was standing in a courtyard. Mist clung to the air like a disease and swam at her feet like writhing eels. It was dark and cold. But, at the same time, it was warm. It was like the sensation of dipping freezing toes into boiling water. The nerves just couldn't make up their mind which extreme to feel._

_Alex wrapped her bare arms around herself, trying to see through the fog. She could only make out shadows of objects. She stretched out her hand, groping as she stumbled blindly towards the nearest silhouette, which stood waist-height. Her fingertips grazed the harsh stone, and came away in a thin layer of blood._

_"Don't."_

_Alex spun around at the voice, a swift gasp erupting from her throat. But there was no one there. The courtyard was empty. Frowning, she turned back to the object and knelt beside it. The mist was so thick that she almost had her face pressed against the object to begin to read it. And to see it for what it was. A gravestone. But it didn't have a name._

_I SAID – DON'T_

_The words were inscribed in the stone. Alex swallowed, straightening up and backing away from the gravestone._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she spied movement. She took a deep breath and snapped her head in that direction. Someone was walking up the hill, towards the small building that Alex presumed was a mausoleum. His back was arched in effort as he walked – no, _stumbled _– up the incline._

_And, as one does in dreams, Alex felt a sudden rush of understanding._

_Crypt… bad… monsters… dark… help… pain…_

_"Hey!" Alex hollered, but he didn't slow._

_"Hey you! Stop! It- It's not safe up there! Hey!" she tried, waving her arms around frantically._

_The fog seemed to act as a gag, snatching her words and ripping them into wisps of smoke. Alex tried to shout again, but the words wouldn't even leave her mouth, as if the fog, now gripped by a bout of sudden anger, had rammed its fist down her throat. She choked and coughed, but still the hand wouldn't let go._

_The boy was getting closer to the building on the hill. Closer to whatever horrors laid inside. Alex didn't know, she couldn't imagine what it was. All she knew was she had to stop him._

_Forcing her hand away from massaging her neck, she took off at a run, ignoring the steadily tightening constricting sensation in her lungs. Her eyes watered. She stumbled. She righted herself. They were chasing her. She didn't know who 'they' were but they were bad and they were chasing her and they were getting closer, and he was closing, he was almost at the door, he was reaching out his hand –_

_"STOP!" Alex screamed, finally breaking through the jeering arms of the mist._

_As if the tie had been severed, the mist dissipated, leaving behind an eerie blank canvas. It seemed the dream had not fabricated itself for this eventuality, it didn't know what to fill the gaps with, so it left it blank._

_But Alex didn't pay any attention to her surroundings, she had tunnel-vision on the blackness of the open door. Where the boy with the round glasses and Christmas jumper had just disappeared into._

_"Hello?" Alex called out, quieter and more tremulous. "Ryan? Is that you?"_

_There was something behind that name. Some horrible truth attached to it, but Alex couldn't remember what._

_"Ryan?" she took a step forward._

_"Don't," the voice hissed again, the one from earlier._

_"Who are you?!" Alex demanded, her eyes blazing in anger. "What's in there?"_

_It didn't answer, the air remained still. Gritting her teeth in determination, Alex ran forward, shattering the darkness of the doorway and falling into the unknown. She tripped onto her knees and blinked rapidly to let her eyes adjust to the unwavering darkness, but she couldn't focus on anything. It was just suffocating black._

_"Ryan?" she whispered. "Where are you?"_

_"Mummy?"_

_Alex's eyes prickled at the little voice, "L-Laura?"_

_"Mummy, where are you? Mummy?" she was crying._

_"Laura, walk towards my voice, 'kay sweetheart? Just walk over to me," Alex encouraged shakily._

_"Laura, stay where you are," a voice in the dark ordered. A very familiar voice._

_"Lee? Lee it's me. It's Alex, I –"_

_"I know who you are," he responded coolly, his voice echoing strangely._

_"We all know who you are," Ryan's voice added venomously._

_Alex couldn't imagine the soft-faced, timid-smiled boy ever speaking in that tone. Sounding so haggard._

_"What's… what's happening? What's going on?" Alex asked, trying to focus on one of the voices._

_"I don't like the dark," Laura sniffled. "It's scary. I'm scared. There're monsters in the dark. Please can we put the light on, I've been here the longest! Lee, please put the light on, it's near you."_

_"I'm not sure you want to," Lee responded._

_"I do!" Laura retorted empathically._

_Alex could hear the smirk in his voice as Lee said, "I wasn't talking to you. What do you think, Alex? Shall we put the light on?"_

_"Pleeeeaaaasssseee, Alex! Please put the light on! I haven't been able to see for so long!" Laura pleaded. "Pleeeaaaa–"_

_"Fine! Put the light on!" Alex yelled over her, unable to listen to her crying anymore. "Just put it on!"_

_There was a crack, and suddenly the room was filled with a light so blinding that Alex had to shield her eyes in her palms, blinking stars away. When she finally managed to clear her vision, Alex looked up, and immediately cried out._

_Stood in a neat semi-circle a few paces away from her, were Laura, Lee, and Ryan. Their skin was as pale as steam, their lips blue with dried blood caked in the creases. Laura had a little lilac nightie on with a peeling transfer of Tinker Bell in the middle. An ugly hole sat at her shoulder where Moriarty had put a bullet in her. Ryan was the least gory, with a neat round circle in his temple, only a drop of scarlet running down his face. Lee was the worst. Every inch of his skin was a horrific mixture of blood, glass, and filth. Even his hair was matted together, and when he opened his mouth, several of his teeth were missing._

_"What's wrong, Alex? Don't you like what you see? You should, you did it," Ryan spat._

_"I'm sor-" Alex choked, looking down at the floor._

_"Sorry?" Ryan mocked. "Yeah that isn't going to do us a whole lot of good anymore."_

_"I'll do whatever you want me to, all of you," Alex implored desperately. "I'm begging you, please forgive me. I never meant for any of you to be a part of this! I –"_

_"Funny," Alex whimpered at the voice at her ear, spinning around to see that it was Lee. He ran a hand over the scar on her neck that she had gotten in the car crash. "This is all you got. I wasn't even involved and I got ripped apart. You were the centre of everything and you just got grazed."_

_"I got a lot more than that," Alex whispered. "Believe me. I wish _I _was the one who was driving that night."_

_"I wish you were driving, too."_

_ Alex licked her lips, biting down in anguish, "I'd do anything to go back and do things differently. We've been friends since we were kids, Lee. I'd never get you involved," she looked over to Laura, eyes brimming with tears as her gaze landed on the bullet wound. "I would've answered his questions," she finally looked up at Ryan, the tears falling down her cheeks. "And I would never have been so stupid enough to believe that I deserved a friend."_

_Ryan walked forward, stopping close enough so that their noses were almost touching, and for one crazed, selfish moment, Alex thought he was going to kiss her. His lips moved towards hers but detoured at the last moment up to her ear._

_"The Devil's dealt your cards, Alex. He's gonna come knocking."_

_"Can you hear him?" Laura asked._

_"He's knocking on your door," Lee added with a sneer. "He's always gonna find you. Can't you hear him knocking?"_

_Alex spun on her heel towards the door as a deep, echoing knock resounded off the walls. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

_"He's knocking, Alex."_

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

_"He's knocking."_

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

_"He's–"_

Alex froze, her limbs locked in a paralysed terror under her duvet. Sweat was running from every pore on her body. Her eyes were wide and looking up to the ceiling, petrified. That had been the worst dream she had had. It was worse than all of those ones of her mother. Because she knew that they were her fault. They had died because of her.

And they hated her for it. She knew her mother could never hate her. But _they _could.

Slowly bringing herself back to the present, Alex blinked away the statue stillness and glanced around her room, propping her back up against her headboard. She hadn't closed her curtains, and the greyness of the night flooded in through her window, giving everything an eerie shadow.

Knowing that there was no way she would be going back to sleep, Alex pulled herself up, half-heartedly draping her dressing gown over her shoulders, and proceeded down to the living room with a zombie-like gait.

She didn't care what time it was. Time didn't really matter. She had nowhere to be.

Sherlock was sat in his seat, staring vacantly in front of him. He hadn't noticed Alex walking in, not that she expected him to. They hadn't spoken since they were at the hospital – even the ride home was silent. Alex knew that 'silent' would be a good way to describe 221B for the foreseeable future. That was how things worked. Holmeses were brooders. Always had been, always would be.

Alex sat on the sofa, keeping her back uncomfortably straight. At least that way she knew she wouldn't go back to sleep.

For the next seven hours, neither Holmes moved. Alex just stared at her bare feet, her fingernails resting at her lips but not biting. Sherlock just remained as blank as ever.

Finally, when John had gotten to the height of frustration whilst trying to convince them both to eat, Alex stood up and ate the ham sandwich he had been wafting under her nose. She then went to the kitchen and brewed herself the strongest coffee, not even bothering to add even a drop of milk. She then proceeded to gulp down the entire mug without stopping for breath, threw it carelessly in the sink, and returned to her seat. John had thrown his hands up in exasperation and left the flat to find a smidgen of normality.

Alex felt a pang of remorse then – that seemed to be all she was capable of feeling at the moment – towards the good doctor. He tried his hardest. Alex couldn't begin to describe how much she respected him for that. But she just couldn't bring herself to smile and pretend to be normal again. It just didn't feel right. She was grieving. Sherlock was grieving. And that was okay.

At least she thought that was okay, until that night; when she laid down to go to sleep and was overcome with a terror so vivid and so horrible, that she immediately sprung up from her mattress, crossed her room, and slammed her door shut behind her. It was as if he – _they – _were behind her bed. Breathing down her neck. Waiting for the moment that she closed her eyes so they could dance across her eyelids, making her relive every second she regretted, knocking her on her knees with their accusing fingers.

No, it was much better for her to just stay awake. Down another mug of black coffee – though she hated it with a passion. Tea, unfortunately, didn't have the strongest effect. This continued for the next few days: _'How did you sleep?' 'Fine.' 'You're up early.' 'Bin-men woke me.' _Alex just made sure she was the last to 'go to bed' and the first to 'wake up'. Excluding Sherlock of course, who just dozed periodically in his chair, sometimes with his eyes open. Either way he didn't notice.

It was New Year's Eve and Sherlock was stood at the window, playing a melancholy tune on his violin and looking down at his sheet music with such resignation that it seemed as if he wasn't even looking at the notes at all. Maybe the particles of dust flying just in front of it. Or maybe nothing at all.

"Lovely tune, Sherlock. Haven't heard that one before," Mrs Hudson praised with a smile as she collected his and Alex's untouched breakfast.

"You composing?" John asked

"Helps me to think."

"What are you thinking about?" John proceeded cautiously.

Sherlock quickly dropped the violin into its stand and spun on his heel to face John's laptop with more vigour than Alex had seen him since he found out about Irene. She looked up in surprise.

"The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," Sherlock said in that rapid-fire way of his.

"Yeah, it's faulty. Can't seem to fix it."

"Faulty – or you've been hacked and it's a message," Sherlock's eyes lit up as he took out Irene's phone from his pocket and punched in the number.

Alex held her breath, about to rise from her seat when Sherlock's shoulders slumped again.

"Just faulty," he muttered distantly, picking up his violin again.

"Right… well I'm going out for a bit," John announced, clearing his throat.

"Respite from us?" Alex questioned.

John smiled at her, "Definitely not. Just some fresh air."

He tugged his coat around himself and gave a final smile to both Alex and Sherlock before disappearing out of the door. Alex heard the sigh as soon as he was out of sight and knew that everything was taking his toll on him too.

Alex groaned quietly, massaging her head. So much guilt.

"I'm going out too," Sherlock suddenly spoke, making Alex blink in surprise and lift her head back up.

"What?"

"I'll be back soon," he walked over to the door, slipping on his coat and wrapping his scarf around his neck.

Alex stood up warily, "You alright?"

Sherlock looked at her, suddenly deflating as he realised what she was thinking. He put a hand softly on her shoulder.

"It's nothing like that. I'm going for a walk," he explained.

Alex maintained her stare, "Promise?"

He managed to give her a reassuring smile, "Promise."

"Good. 'Cause I can easily tell Mycroft that it's a danger night and have you followed," she threatened.

He gave her shoulder a light squeeze and he was gone, seemingly unfazed by Alex's warning. That had to count for something.

There was no way she was going to let her uncle relapse. His health was more important now than ever, knowing who would surely exploit a sick Sherlock.

Alex collapsed back onto the sofa and closed her eyes. A few minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt… but as soon as her eyelashes met and all Alex could see was darkness, she bolted back up, panting.

"No sleeping then," she said breathily, running a hand through her hair and going off to the kitchen to brew herself another coffee.

The next few hours passed uneventfully; filled with horrendous daytime television and catching up on novels that Alex had long since forgotten. She was a few pages into Great Expectations when the door slammed downstairs.

"Sherlock? You back?" Alex shouted from the living room.

There was no answer, just continued walking on the landing.

"John?" she tried again.

This time there was an answer, Mrs Hudson's voice ringing out, "You calling, dearie?"

Alex's reply faltered on her lips though, as Mrs Hudson let out a scream. Alex jumped up, hurdling over the arm of the sofa and was about to sprint down to 221A when she stopped at the top of the stairs.

"Hello, kid. Daddy home?" the cocky American from Irene Adler's house asked with a grin.

Another man appeared next to him, holding a struggling Mrs Hudson around the middle. Alex spied the blood on her cheek and her blood instantly boiled.

"Get out," Alex snarled, taking a few steps down the stairs towards him.

Neilson held his hands up in mock-surrender, "What're you going to do about it on your own, sweetie? Kick me in the shins?"

Alex stopped in front of him, "If you'd like me to."

He let out a bark of laughter that soon turned into a howl of pain as Alex drove the tip of her trainers just below his kneecap, making him buckle. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pushed him up against the wall.

"Get. Out."

However, stupidly – she later blamed lack of sleep – she had turned her back without a second thought of how many other men might be there, and suddenly she was being lifted over the banister and dropped to the floor. She was halfway down the stairs anyway, so the fall only winded her. They took this opportunity to tug her arms behind her back and drag her back upstairs into the living room, Mrs Hudson tearfully whimpering as they did.

Once they were both forced into dining chairs in the middle of the room, Alex felt a gun to her head and rolled her eyes.

"I really don't get what your obsession with guns is. I mean, we're the ones who are going to get out of this unscathed anyway. You're going to wish you'd stayed in America."

That got her a punch to the mouth. It didn't hurt; Moriarty's men were much more experienced in the art of inflicting pain. These were just pathetic.

"If I were you, I'd punch me slightly more to the right: it'll make it more painful when you hit the tooth," Alex advised.

"Shut up," one of the men – Not Neilson – growled.

"Why, we're gonna be here for a while anyway?" Alex said casually. "I'm getting a little bored."

"Ooh Alex, don't anger them," Mrs Hudson whispered fretfully.

"Nah, don't worry Mrs H. They aren't going to hurt me much; they know that a certain someone will kill them on first sight if they do."

"Rather full of it, aren't you?" Neilson remarked, his nostrils flaring in impatience. "Think you're smart little miss?"

"Evidently smarter than you," Alex laughed. "You are a walking death sentence now. Hurt me and you're in for a world of pain, but hurt Mrs Hudson," her eyes flashed. "And you really, _really _should heed my advice and leave. Then run."

Neilson stood forward, towering over her and tilted her head back. She frowned in confusion and immediately froze as his fingers traced the long scar on her neck, just as Lee had. He turned over her hands and rolled up her sleeves, showing the other pink and white marks littered over her skin. His lips curled into a smile.

"Well, it seems I'm not the only one that has a death sentence. I wonder who _you _are running from."

Alex jerked away from him, glaring ferociously.

"Oh leave her alone, you horrible man!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

Neilson sighed and glanced over at the old lady pityingly. And here Alex gave her credit, for she didn't quail under his intense stare. Alex tensed as he turned to Mrs Hudson, raising his hand to –

"Impeccable timing, Uncle!" Alex announced loudly, snapping Neilson's attention from Mrs Hudson to Sherlock stood in the doorway.

He looked calm, but Alex could see the raging inferno in his eyes and supressed a smile as she thought of what he was going to do to Neilson.

"Oh, Sherlock, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson cried, shaking.

"Don't snivel, Mrs Hudson. It'll do nothing to impede the flight of a bullet," Sherlock said callously, glancing at Alex.

She gave him a small nod to show that she was okay. She then grinned at Mrs Hudson in reassurance.

"What a tender world that would be," Sherlock finished, looking at Neilson.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes."

"Then why don't you ask for it?" Sherlock suggested as he walked over to Mrs Hudson, turning over her hands to examine the bruising on her wrists.

"I've been asking this one. She doesn't seem to know anything. The other one hasn't shut up since we found her, can't get a word in edgeways," he tapped her head with his gun. "You know anything?"

Alex looked up, her face the picture of innocence as she said with a pet lip and a dainty shrug, "No idea."

Neilson exhaled in annoyance – apparently wanting nothing more than to pull the trigger – and turned his attention to Sherlock.

"But you know what I'm asking for, don't you, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock averted his gaze from where it rested on the cut on Mrs Hudson's cheek to the bloodied ring on Neilson's finger, and finally to his face.

"I believe I do."

He stood up, releasing Mrs Hudson.

"First, get rid of your boys," he ordered.

"Why?"

"I dislike being outnumbered, it makes for too much stupidity in the room," Sherlock quipped, making Alex snort.

Neilson paused for a moment but nodded, "You two, go to the car."

"Then get in the car and drive away. Don't try to trick me, you know who I am, it doesn't work."

The two men reluctantly left. Alex's eyes followed them as they disappeared.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me," Sherlock said.

"So you can point a gun at me?"

Sherlock held his arms out in a sign of peace, "I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist."

"Don't do anything," Mrs Hudson whimpered as Neilson walked over to Sherlock and began to pat down his jacket.

Alex held her hand. She clung to the younger girl.

Just as Alex had expected, whilst Neilson was busy looking for weapons, Sherlock's arm curled behind him to the desk.

'Left a bit,' Alex mouthed.

His hand patted to the left, curled around the sanitizer and swung it towards Neilson with such force that Alex's eyes widened in surprise. Neilson screamed in agony as the sanitizer clouded his eyes and fell unconscious to the floor when Sherlock head-butted him in the brow.

"Encore," Alex laughed shakily.

Sherlock – being the show-off that he was – flipped the can and caught it again, setting it down on the desk with a mutter of, "Moron."

He then hurried over and knelt next to Mrs Hudson, putting a hand on the side of her face gently as she cried. Alex kept hold of her other hand.

"You're all right now, you're all right," Sherlock soothed.

Alex smiled softly as Mrs Hudson leaned into Sherlock, him rubbing her back. He caught Alex's eye.

"You okay, Al'?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, "Course I am," she glanced sideways at the unconscious Neilson. "But I have a feeling he's not going to be."

Sherlock smirked.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: DeffoNotEmmy, FlewandFlied, rycbar15, Eternal Cat Moon, Guest, ShatteredBlue221, 3broomstix, AnotherDamnMexican149, Loyal Elf, kitty kat wings, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Guest, rose and sherloki'd, Lyriel and Guest for reviewing!<strong>

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**X**


	82. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! You know how hectic Christmas can be! I hope you've all had a fantastic festive period. On with the chapter.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"You're all right now, you're all right," Sherlock soothed._

_Alex smiled softly as Mrs Hudson leaned into Sherlock, him rubbing her back. He caught Alex's eye._

_"You okay, Al'?" he asked quietly._

_She nodded, "Course I am," she glanced sideways at the unconscious Neilson. "But I have a feeling he's not going to be."_

_Sherlock smirked._

Alex grinned lightly as she looked out of the window down at Sherlock and Lestrade. Neilson was being loaded into an ambulance, and Alex was loathe to admit that she felt just a little bit sorry for him. Not enough to do anything, just to feel a tinge of regret to not stopping Sherlock from throwing him out of the window for a fourth time.

Shrugging, Alex went downstairs to Mrs Hudson's, where the old lady and John were sat around her kitchen table.

"You feeling better, Mrs Hudson?" Alex asked politely as she sat down.

"Yes, yes thank you dear," she smiled. "Just a little shaken."

"Not as much as our little friend out there I'd wager," Alex joked. "Left quite a dent in your bins."

Mrs Hudson made a sound that resembled a laugh, but was laced with the warbling tones of someone about to cry. Alex looked at John in alarm. They were thankfully saved from having to awkwardly change the subject by Sherlock entering, causing a welcome distraction.

"Everything sorted?" Alex asked.

He nodded, going over to the fridge and picking out a mince pie, "Yes, he won't be coming back here. At least not without a wheelchair hooked up to a life support machine, don't worry Mrs Hudson."

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her," John said.

"No," Mrs Hudson immediately declined.

"Of course, but she's fine," Sherlock said to John, completely ignoring Mrs Hudson.

"She's got to take some time away from Baker Street. She can go and stay with her sister. Doctor's orders."

"Don't be absurd," Sherlock brushed off.

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone!" John exclaimed.

"Yeah, where is that?" Alex asked with a frown. "They obviously couldn't find it…"

"Safest place I know," Sherlock replied with an amused glance to Mrs Hudson.

The elderly lady smiled and reached down her shirt, retrieving the phone from her bra.

"You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot. I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry," she giggled, handing the phone to Sherlock.

He tossed it up in the air and pocketed it, "Shame on you, John Watson."

"Shame on _me?"_

"Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street?" he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. "England would fall."

She chuckled while Alex and John looked on fondly at the scene.

"I'll have to try that, Mrs Hudson," Alex said.

Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably.

* * *

><p>Back up in 221B, Alex, John and Sherlock were convened in the living room. They were talking about the newly 'not dead' Irene Adler, but Alex tuned out of their conversation disinterestedly. She wasn't in the mood to worry about such things. Instead, she flicked between channels on the television, settling on BBC News.<p>

A stern faced reporter was stood on a street corner, where blue and white tape cornered off the pavement.

_'Yes, at five o'clock this New Year's Eve, on this spot, 53 year-old Bernadette Matthews was killed. Eyewitness accounts have it that out of the opening of the alley just a few paces from here, a masked man sprinted down this pathway, being pursued by who seemed to be ununiformed police._

_People began to scarper from the scene when the man running pulled out a knife, but unfortunately Bernadette Matthews wasn't quick enough. He held her at knifepoint as what seemed like leverage, but these 'policemen' didn't desist. Instead, the woman tried to get away herself, but the man was too strong. As a result, Mrs Matthews was killed instantly._

_Witnesses then have it that the man tried to make another escape, but was apprehended by the 'policemen' and bundled into a prisoner transportation vehicle that was coincidently driving past. We have no record of where the vehicle went from there, and the arresters have yet to be identified._

_There is a lot of mystery surrounding this tragedy, something that the family of Mrs Matthews is desperate to find out. Who is this masked man? Why was he being chased? Who exactly were the men chasing him? And where was he taken after he committed this heinous crime?_

_That's all from me, back to Susanna in the studio.'_

Alex shook her head at what the world was coming to – as people do when watching the news – and switched it off. They had enough problems without adding those of strangers. No doubt that was where Lestrade was rushing off to earlier.

Big Ben rang out across London, marking the hour of midnight.

"Happy New Year, Alex," Sherlock bade her from the window.

"You too. Let's hope it's an improvement on the last one, eh?"

* * *

><p>The next few months saw winter turn to spring, and late spring at that. But, it was England, and the rain was much more sociable than the sun. Those rainy days mostly consisted of Alex curled up on the sofa with a book, just enjoying the temporary peace. There had been cases, of course, but nothing too taxing. Sherlock had been asked to help with the case that Alex had seen on the news, but the man had turned up at Canterbury Prison and pleaded guilty to murder and evasion of the police. Nothing more was said.<p>

John was at the surgery and Sherlock had gone out to the lab earlier that morning – something about x-raying a phone; Alex wasn't really listening – and had left Alex with, as usual, her books. That was when she heard the footsteps. She knew Sherlock's: long, confident and impatient; John's: shorter and slower; and Mrs Hudson's: a laboured breath and a tiny murmur of pain after every one. These were swift and light.

Alex closed her book silently and rose from the sofa. After last time, she wasn't taking any chances. As quietly and efficiently as she could, Alex rolled up the tea towel that had been left on the arm of the sofa so that it resembled a thick piece of rope, and stepped around the corner of the kitchen out of sight.

She watched through the frosted glass of the kitchen door as the door opened and an averagely sized man? woman? strutted in. The figure bent down to the coffee table to inspect the book Alex was reading, and she took her chance. She dived out from behind the doorway and threw the towel around the person's neck, pulling hard so that their head bent towards her.

"Irene?" Alex's jaw dropped, but she didn't let go.

The woman gave an impish smile, though her face was contorted with the effort of trying to breathe.

"Any… chance… of… letting… go?" she choked out.

"Oh, sorry," Alex released her and she doubled over and rubbed her neck. "No, actually, I'm not sorry. What on Earth are you doing here Irene?! You need to leave right now!"

"I just need to talk. Is that any way to treat a tired and hungry guest?" Irene said in mock sadness.

"It is when _you're _the guest," Alex retorted and took a breath. "Sherlock and John will be back in about an hour. Can what you have to say be condensed into that? Because I want you gone by the time they walk through that door."

"I think by the time I'm finished, you'll have changed your mind."

"I severely doubt that," Alex smiled wryly. "Tea?"

* * *

><p>Alex listened to her sob story of how being a Dominatrix was hard and there were people out to kill her and blah, blah, blah – she just wanted rid of the woman. But her interest was suddenly snatched the mention of her uncle's name. Not Sherlock. The other one.<p>

"How do you know Mycroft Holmes?" Alex demanded, abandoning her teacup.

Irene looked at her innocently, "I just know that he is a very important man with a very important job… I bet people like him get a lot of death threats."

"Tell me."

"I've told you everything I–"

"Cut the crap and tell me."

Irene smiled, "Let me stay and I'll tell you. All three of you. You, Sherlock, Doctor Watson."

Alex set her jaw in agitation, "Is my uncle in immediate danger?"

"He is _always _in immediate danger."

Alex finally lost her temper, "Just answer the DAMN question!"

The Woman smirked again, apparently admiring Alex's irritability. She answered evenly and patiently, "If what I have gets out, yes."

Forcing herself back to being calm, Alex said, "And what do you want us to do with this information? Blackmail us?"

"I just want to understand it," Irene laid back in to Sherlock's armchair, her story now done. "So are you going to throw me out?"

Alex ran a hand over her face and begrudgingly replied, "I don't have a choice now. No."

"Then you won't mind if I go to sleep somewhere a little more comfortable?" Irene asked with a sly glint in her eye.

"John's bedroom's through the hall, Sherlock's is on the left and mine is up the stairs," Alex sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you mine and John's, we both know where you're going."

"You're learning fast."

* * *

><p>It was in fact another hour and a half before Sherlock and John arrived back, meeting first in Speedy's. Alex sat stoically on the sofa, staring at her book but not reading any of the words. That was the first thing Sherlock noticed. Alex cringed as he began to walk slowly to his bedroom. She heard his door open with a soft creak and swallowed.<p>

"Sherlock…" John frowned as the detective stopped stock-still in the middle of the doorway.

"We have a client."

"What, in your bedroom?" John hurried down the hallway and glanced in. "Ohh."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at Alex, "You let her in?"

"She didn't give me much of a choice," Alex defended pathetically. "She knows something. Wants you to figure something out. I don't know."

"I trust the bruises on her neck are your doing?" he asked.

"Yep," Alex popped the 'p'.

"Good."

Irene awoke a while after, and seemed to glide into the living room, taking Sherlock's chair while he was in the kitchen. He glared at her and reluctantly sat in the 'client chair'. Alex frowned at the bizarre sight as she and John also sat down.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock began.

"People who want to kill me."

"And who's that?"

"Killers," she replied smartly.

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John put in.

"So you faked your own death to get ahead of them?" Sherlock asked.

Irene was about to reply when there was a loud knocking at the door, followed by Mrs Hudson shouting, "It's for one of you!"

"Alex, tell them to piss off," Sherlock told her.

"My pleasure."

She left the room, casting a cautious glance back at Irene and went down the stairs to the door. A skeletal man with sunken eyes and inflated pupils stared back at her. She took an involuntary step back. He handed her a note.

She frowned at him and took it carefully. Written in biro pen was:

_You've done this. You've got to help me. They're after me next. You can help me. And you can help him like he helped you. You owe him that. 4 o'clock tomorrow morning where you first saw me._

"Who gave you this? Describe him," Alex ordered, her hand trembling a little.

"Uhh… tall… dirty…" he trailed off.

"Did he have a beard? A foul mouth?" Alex already knew the answer, and it was a good job, because the man didn't reply anyway. He began to walk away in a daze.

Alex looked back down at the note. What had she done? And who did she owe? Greg had told her to leave it, but she couldn't. Everything was happening at once, nothing made any sense. And if she did owe someone, she paid her debts. No one could accuse her of not doing that.

"Who was that, dearie?" Mrs Hudson asked from her door.

"No one," Alex faked a smile. "Cold caller. Trying to sell… washing machines."

"Oh, I could do with one of them."

Alex just shook her head with a distracted smile and turned to climb back up to 221B, shoving the letter back into her pocket as she did so. When she arrived back in the living room, John gave her a questioning glance, to which she responded with a shrug.

"Cold caller?" he guessed.

Alex nodded, "Yeah. What've I missed?"

Irene smirked over to her, "I'm just about to let your uncle work this code out. Or would you be just as good, Alex?"

"Maybe one day."

"Not today?"

"Definitely not."

Irene averted her attention back to Sherlock, "Back to you then, Mr Holmes. What can you do? Go on, impress a girl."

Sherlock took the phone, and by the time Alex had taken a seat on the sofa, he had worked it out.

He began to speak rapidly, "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore. Apparently it's going to save the world. Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment; I've only been on the case for eight seconds. There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1'; no letters past 'K' – the width of the plane is the limit. The numbers always appear randomly and not in sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place – families and couples sitting together. Only a Jumbo is wide enough to need the letter 'K' or rows past fifty-five, which is why there's always an upstairs. There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number – zero zero seven – that eliminates a few more; and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately that the crisis is imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport."

Even Alex, whom had become accustomed to this from a very young age, was exceptionally impressed. John's mouth was gaping, and Irene was staring in ill-concealed awe and admiration. Alex grinned proudly at her uncle.

"Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was remarkable or amazing," Sherlock continued. "John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language."

"I would have you right here on this desk until you begged for mercy twice," Irene suddenly said, her voice husky and flirtatious.

Alex's smile dropped and in its place was a face of disgust. The pair of them stared at each other, their gazes locked in a silent battle. Alex made retching noises behind them.

"John, please can you check those flight schedules; see if I'm right?" Sherlock asked without breaking his lock on Irene.

"Uh-huh. I'm on it, yeah."

"I've never begged for mercy in my life," Sherlock spoke to Irene.

"Twice," she insisted with an emphatic raise of her eyebrows, making Alex roll her eyes.

"Uh, yeah, you're right. Uh, flight double oh seven," John read from the laptop screen.

Sherlock finally looked away from Irene and turned to John with a frown, "What did you say?"

"You're right."

"No, no, no, after that. What did you say after that?" Sherlock demanded urgently.

"Flight double oh seven," Alex replied for him, confusion lacing her voice. "What's wrong?"

He waved a dismissive hand in her direction as he muttered 'double oh seven' furiously under his breath, his eyes getting wider and wider as he did, scrambling for an answer.

"Sherlock!"

"Double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven, double oh seven," he threw his hands up in frustration and sank back into his armchair. "Shut up, I need to think."

John and Alex glanced at each other as he fell silent, retreating into the walls of his mind palace.

"Well, he isn't going to be speaking for a while, I'd settle in," Alex told Irene, who was regarding Sherlock in such a way that made Alex nervous.

"I'm going out, give me a text if you need to," John said to Alex, tapping her on the head as he went for the door and giving her a warning look. "Behave."

"I will," she promised.

He chuckled softly as he left down the stairs, "I know you will!"

She smiled.

"You two have a good relationship," Irene noted, settling into John's chair.

"Yeah, well, he's the only normal one around here. He's probably my closest friend. Sherlock's as well which is a bonus," Alex sighed. "Listen, I'm gonna go down and see Mrs Hudson. I'll just be downstairs."

"In case I need you? Or in case I decide to pull a stunt?" Irene asked.

"Both. More so the latter," Alex made for the door.

"Before you go, can I ask something?" Irene said. "Why don't you trust me anymore?"

"When did I trust you to start with?"

"At my house all those months ago."

Alex laughed humourlessly, "No, no, no, I didn't trust you. I _liked _you, but I didn't trust you. It takes a lot for me to trust someone. I might have, but then you decide to drug my uncle, which I eventually forgave considering he was okay after. But then you pretended to be dead. Now that struck a chord with me. See, I've lost too many friends in my life. They're dead and buried now. I know the pain that causes and I saw it in my uncle that night when you 'died'. You don't play with people like that. I'm all for the game, but there are some things you just don't do. You did them. That's why I said that I lik_ed_ you. Past tense. Have a nice night."

The talk with Irene having wound her up, Alex decided to bypass Mrs H's and instead settled on the top step outside the front door. The wind was cool but not too cold, just enough to neutralize the heat from Alex's cheeks. She supposed she shouldn't have gotten so angry; Irene was only doing what she needed to to survive. Perhaps it was because she was… jealous?

Yes, in a twisted and selfish way that Alex was deeply ashamed of, she was jealous. Both Sherlock and Alex had lost someone that night, they were both hurting equally – Alex if not more, with the added agony of guilt. But Sherlock got Irene back. Alex wasn't going to get Ryan back. She was _never _going to get that innocent teenage boy back. And yet, upstairs, was a lying, cheating middle-aged dominatrix alive and breathing. Where was the justice in that?

"Miss Holmes?" the familiar voice made her look up in surprise.

When she saw who it was – one of the delightful men from the palace – she sighed, "I'm just leaving."

He put a firm hand on her shoulder when she tried to skirt past him, "I don't think you are, Miss Holmes."

"Come on, I'm not exactly a vital –"

"Mr Holmes insisted for your safety that you accompany your uncle and me."

"He does know I've been home alone before, right?"

"Please just –"

"No, he can't tell me –"

"Just come with –"

"Take your hand off –"

"Will you –"

"Alex! Are you being arrested?" Mrs Hudson gasped from her doorway.

Alex sighed again, plastering a smile onto her face, "No, Mrs H. Just having a domestic with Mycroft and his goons."

"I'm here to see Mr Holmes," he added.

"Well come on up and see Sherlock and stop harassing this girl," Mrs Hudson said brusquely. "I'll show you up."

Before he went, the man reached into his inside pocket and gave Alex an envelope. Inside was a ticket addressed to her for the 007 flight to Baltimore.

"Great, thanks Mycroft," Alex muttered.

She got in the ominous black car – of course – and pushed all thoughts of Ryan and the mystery note out of her mind.

**HUGE thank you to: Guest, Eternal Cat Moon, emilybrock101, ShatteredBlue221, Guest, book pond, rose and sherloki'd, kitty kat wings, 3broomstix, Crossing the Galaxy 22, rycbar15, Guest, Loyal Elf, Sherlock'sBigFan, and The TimeKeeper's Screwdriver for reviewing!**

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**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	83. A Scandal in Belgravia - Part 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: So sorry for the wait, I had a pretty bad start to 2015. A sickness virus, then bronchitis, then salmonella in quick succession of each other is not fun, believe me. I hope you all had a better start to the new year! But I'm healthy again now and updates will be every three-five days again :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Great, thanks Mycroft," Alex muttered._

_She got in the ominous black car – of course – and pushed all thoughts of Ryan and the mystery note out of her mind._

"I love our little family outings, don't you?" Alex smiled sarcastically at Sherlock as the car pulled up beside a parked up jet on the airport runway. "Oh and look! Our favourite CIA assassin. Great."

"You're very cynical today, Alex," Sherlock noted.

Alex hummed, "Maybe Irene's rubbing off on me. Or I'm just royally pissed off at Mycroft at making me come here and leave Miss Adler alone where she could be doing anything with any of our stuff."

"I thought you liked her," Sherlock said as one of the chauffeurs held open the door for him, and he climbed out.

"I'm not going through this again," Alex quickly slammed down the handle and swung open her door before the chauffer could get there.

He gave her a glare, to which she gave a small laugh.

"You've been fun when you weren't trying to drag me out of my house. I'll put in a good word for you."

She didn't see his reaction as she ran slightly to catch up with Sherlock, who was, predictably, provoking the American.

"Well, you're lookin' all better," Sherlock said in an impressive American accent. "How ya feelin'?"

Alex coughed into her hand to disguise her chortle.

"Like putting a bullet in your brain ... sir," he replied smarmily.

Sherlock sniggered and pushed Alex in front of him to lead the way up the steps to the jet.

"They'd pin a medal on me if I did."

Sherlock and Alex stopped. Sherlock turned as if to reply, but sighed resignedly. He couldn't be bothered with him… but Alex could.

"Excuse me, Uncle," Alex smiled sweetly, edging around him and back down the steps to stand in front of Neilson. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

She looked up at Neilson, a good foot taller than her, "You know what I was saying earlier – when you had my adopted grandmother and I at gunpoint, that is – about punching just a little more towards the canine tooth?"

He nodded bemusedly.

"Just like this."

She swung her fist and it collided with his tooth with an extremely satisfying crack and blood immediately began to pour from his lip. He doubled over, moaning in pain and trying to stem the flow. Alex wiped her knuckles on his jacket and hopped back up the steps and breezed past Sherlock.

"Violent," he muttered.

"Oh, he deserved it…" Alex trailed off in the doorway of the plane, the breath leaving her.

She barely felt Sherlock move past her and walk up the isle between the people. Between the bodies. Between the dead. Her smile dropped and she took a few moments to make sure that she wasn't going to throw up. The bodies were propped up in their seats, waiting for their flight. Their faces were grey and their eyes closed. Alex felt like a criminal for just breathing in the silence, every inch of her skin tightening and shivering.

Sherlock bent down to their level and inspected closely, raking in their details. Alex just walked slowly by, her head forced straight forward but her eyes straying to the corners to see the faces. Until she saw one she recognised. She stopped, gathered herself, and turned fully to the body. It was a man. Middle aged. Balding slightly. Why was he familiar? Something about his face... she had seen it before…

"The Coventry conundrum."

Alex gasped and stood up in surprise. She relaxed a little when she saw that it was Mycroft, but it was hard to calm one's nerves in a plane full of corpses.

"Mycroft, what's going on?" she asked tremulously.

"This is my solution, Alex. What do you think?"

She didn't answer; she just continued to stare, unable to fully process what was happening.

"The flight of the dead," Mycroft continued.

"I-I don't understand…" Alex looked to Sherlock helplessly. She wasn't as clever as them, didn't they realise?

"The plane blows up mid-air. Mission accomplished for the terrorists. Hundreds of casualties, but nobody dies," Sherlock explained quietly to her.

"Neat – don't you think?"

Sherlock gave his brother a humourless, wry smile. Alex looked disgusted.

"You've been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages – or were you too bored to notice the pattern?" Mycroft mocked.

Alex thought back to the little girls talking about their grandfather, and how they weren't allowed to see him after he was dead. And the spooky guy with the urn, saying the ashes weren't human. And finally, the face of the late Jack Hanna. Alex glanced down at him, in his cold, dead glory, inhaling sharply.

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at her casually. Alex felt anger begin to pulse under her skin and spoke with a vehement hiss in her voice.

"This is Jack Hanna: the friend Darren Howell never got to say goodbye to and murdered three people, including himself, as a result. I wonder why he couldn't say goodbye to his friend… hmm… oh, yeah, because he's here!" Alex pointed to the man. "Well done, Mycroft."

"Three people's lives for a few hundred. Collateral damage," Mycroft responded coolly.

Alex wanted to argue, say something along the lines of 'but what if he'd murdered me?', but she settled for shaking her head and keeping her mouth shut. She knew he was right, even if she wouldn't be strong enough to do it herself.

"How's the plane going to fly?" Sherlock asked, before immediately answering his own question. "Of course: unmanned aircraft. Hardly new."

"It _doesn't_ fly. It will _never_ fly. This entire project is cancelled. The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb. We can't fool them now. We've lost everything. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning… finished," Mycroft's voice tailed off in disappointment.

"Your MOD man."

"That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special," the last few words were coloured with distaste.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Hmm. You should screen your defence people more carefully."

"I'm not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock, I'm talking about you!" he shouted furiously, making Alex flinch as he slammed the tip of his umbrella down on the floor for emphasis. When Mycroft was that angry, it was a good time to leave the room as fast as you could. She remembered a certain incident when she was a child involving a petulant five year-old and a tree. But this wasn't just a childish game, this was national security.

She dared a glance to Sherlock, and he, to her surprise, looked genuinely confused.

"The damsel in distress," Mycroft continued, quietly disappointed now – the worst stage –, "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle… and watch him dance."

"I haven't done anything to your precious plan. Don't be absurd," Sherlock scoffed, but there was a hint of something that told Alex he wasn't completely certain of his words.

"Absurd? How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full minute, or were you really _eager_ to impress?" Mycroft sneered.

And, as Alex had grimly suspected, Irene Adler's voice spoke from behind Sherlock as she entered the cabin, "I think it was less than five seconds."

She was immaculate, with her makeup reapplied, her hair pinned up proudly and a glamourous floor length black dress. A triumphant smirk played on her crimson lips.

Sherlock spun around at her voice, and Alex shook her head in loathing.

"It isn't just Sherlock's fault," Alex directed at Mycroft, then turning to Irene. "I should never have let you in."

Irene pouted mockingly, "But we were getting on so well."

Before Alex had time to respond, Mycroft said, "I drove you into her paths… I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Sherlock's eyes never flickered from Irene.

"Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk," she said happily.

"So do I. There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on –"

"Not you, junior. You're done now," Irene waved Sherlock away disinterestedly, skirting past him and walking over to Mycroft.

She stopped in front of him and held up her phone screen. Alex saw the way her uncle's shoulders slumped, defeat in his eyes, and it made her feel a surge of sympathy for her uncle. They didn't get along as well as she did with Sherlock, but he was still her family.

"There's more ... loads more," Irene informed him. "On this phone I've got secrets, pictures and scandals that could topple your whole world. You have no idea how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me – unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother."

Mycroft lowered his eyes, unable to look at any of them anymore.

"Irene," Alex began, "…Please just… This is your country too. If there is information there that could get people killed, would you be able to live with yourself knowing that you basically offered them up on a plate?"

Irene looked at her almost pityingly, and after a moment replied, "You're so young, Alex. I'd forgotten just quite how young until you're standing here with us. How many children go through what you have to, hmm? How many children have been in this situation? It's no wonder you look so tired –"

"Stop it, now," Alex spat. "I know what you're doing and it isn't going to work."

"Isn't it?" Irene stage-whispered.

Alex looked over at Mycroft. He avoided her gaze and looked at his feet guiltily. When she turned to Sherlock, he managed to hold her stare but there was a shimmer of guilt in his eye, as well.

"Let's say we take this somewhere a little more comfortable, Mr Holmes? Your home perhaps?" Irene asked.

Alex gaped at him when he nodded and motioned for Irene to lead the way out of the plane. Alex ran the couple of steps towards him and pulled his arm back while Irene descended the stairs where Neilson stood dutifully. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her.

"What're you doing?" Alex asked, her voice unsteady with disbelief.

"What needs to be done," he replied coolly and carried on to follow.

She pulled him back again, "You aren't seriously considering whatever it is she wants from you, right?"

He didn't answer. He gently took her hand and uncurled it from his arm, before too disappearing down the steps. Alex shook her head after him, not believing what he was doing.

"Come on, Alex," Sherlock said quietly.

His voice was distant and unfocussed, meaning that his mind was running through a thousand different things at once. Hopefully, how to get out of this situation, and how on Earth they had managed to get into it in the first place.

* * *

><p>Alex sat opposite Sherlock over Mycroft's fireplace. He stared into the flames, only half-listening to the conversation behind him at the dining table between Mycroft and Irene. Alex chewed nervously on her sleeve. Sherlock caught her eye and shook his head, telling her to stop. It was a habit she used to have when she was a child. She forced her arm away from her mouth.<p>

"We have people who can get into this," Mycroft said coolly, nodding to the camera phone on the table.

"I tested that theory for you. I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months."

Sherlock winced, and Alex gave him a consoling grimace.

"Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone," Irene requested with an amused nick to her voice.

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing, I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive," Sherlock replied flatly.

Mycroft rubbed a hand over his face, moaning very quietly.

"Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive."

"Explosive," Irene grinned. "It's more me."

"Some data is always recoverable," Mycroft said.

"Take that risk?"

Mycroft decided it was time to change tactics, "You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you."

Irene sighed, "Sherlock…"

"There will be two passcodes: one to open the phone, one to burn the drive. Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you and there will be no point in a second attempt," Sherlock explained softly.

"He's good, isn't he? I should have him on a leash – in fact, I _might," _Irene purred suggestively.

Alex mumbled an obscenity under her breath.

Mycroft paused, "We destroy this, then. _No-one_ has the information."

"Fine. Good idea ... unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn, like Alex pointed out."

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair. I'm not playing anymore," she reached into her handbag and retrieved an envelope, pushing it across the table to Mycroft. "A list of my requests; and some ideas about my protection once they're granted."

Mycroft unfolded the paper and began to read. His eyes widened.

"I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation – but then I'd be lying."

"It's not like you have an aversion to it," Alex remarked.

"I imagine you'd like to sleep on it," Irene smiled to Mycroft, whose eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline.

"Thank you, yes."

"Too bad. Off you pop and talk to people," Irene said simply.

Mycroft blew out a breath, overwhelmed slightly, "You've been very ... thorough. I wish our lot were half as good as you."

"I can't take all the credit. Had a bit of help," Irene glanced at Sherlock and Alex. "Jim Moriarty sends his love."

Alex froze, her heart pounding in her ears. Her hands clenched into fists. Memories flashed through her mind – pain, confusion, betrayal. She swallowed thickly before risking a look at Sherlock. His eyes were shimmering with concern.

Mycroft kept his line of sight away from Alex as he said, "Yes, he's been in touch. Seems desperate for my attention… which I'm sure can be arranged."

"No!" Alex exclaimed quickly.

He ignored her.

"It's alright, Alex," Sherlock whispered loud enough for only her to hear.

"I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it. Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D'you know what he calls you three?" to Mycroft, "The Iceman," to Sherlock, "The Virgin," and, finally, to Alex, "And the Baby."

Alex visibly flinched. She felt sick.

"Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. Now _that's_ my kind of man," Irene hummed seductively.

"And here you are, the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees," Mycroft said, standing from the table in defeat. "Nicely played."

Irene's face split into a beam. She knew now that she had won, she had beaten the Holmeses –

"No," Sherlock suddenly stopped Mycroft in his tracks.

Irene frowned confusedly, the smile still plastered on her face, "Sorry?"

"I said no. _Very,_ very close, but no."

Alex perked up. Had he seen something she hadn't? Of course he had, what was she talking about? Why did she even doubt him? She allowed herself to smile.

"You got carried away. The game was too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much."

"There's no such thing as too much," Irene said.

Sherlock stood up and almost hurled over the back of his chair, walking slowly over to Irene, "Oh, enjoying the thrill of the chase is fine, craving the distraction of the game – I sympathise entirely – but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

"Sentiment? What are you talking about?" Irene's smile had faltered a little.

"You."

"Oh dear God. Look at the poor man. You don't actually think I was interested in you? Why? Because you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?" Irene scoffed.

Alex rose from her chair, trying to concentrate on the revelations in front of her, but she couldn't. Moriarty. She couldn't deal with him anymore. It had been so long.

Before she realised what was happening Sherlock had held up the camera phone to Irene and typed in –

I AM  
>SHER<br>LOCKED

A tear ran down Irene's cheek and she shot out and clasped Sherlock's arm, "Everything I said: it's not real… I was just playing the game."

"I know," Sherlock replied equally as softly. "And this is just losing."

He clicked enter. The phone unlocked. More tears. Sherlock handed the camera phone to Mycroft.

"There you are, brother. I hope the contents make up for any inconvenience I may have caused you tonight."

"I'm certain they will," Mycroft replied, relief clear on his face.

"Come on, Alex. Home," Sherlock ordered, a hand on her shoulder.

Alex nodded, casting a glance at Irene. She was stood in the middle of the room, tears flowing freely down her face. Her expression was just plain broken. It was one that Alex knew had been on her face at least twice in her life. Despite everything she had done, Alex shrugged off Sherlock's hand and placed hers on Irene's. The Woman looked up in surprise through her tears.

"I'm sorry about what's going to happen to you now," Alex said.

Irene didn't reply. Alex understood, someone apologising for something happening to you wasn't going to change anything. The amount of people who had said that they were sorry about what happen to her mother, and what good did that do?

Alex let her hand slip from her shoulder.

"Goodnight, Mycroft," Alex smiled softly and waited outside the door for Sherlock.

He was back out in a few minutes. He brushed past her, clearly deep in thought and hadn't registered that she was stood there. He was walking at a much quicker pace than usual and meant that Alex had to jog to catch up with him.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock! Slow down!" she called as she clambered out of the chauffer driven car that she had barrelled into.<p>

Sherlock had walked straight out of Mycroft's and hailed a cab. They had driven off before Alex had managed to catch up. Thankfully, the car that she had been driven back in had followed Sherlock's cab. No doubt he had wanted to think over what had transpired, or he had just forgotten she was there.

He jerked in surprise as he was about to open the door to 221B.

"Something wrong?"

"Apart from you just abandoning me at Mycroft's?" she joked lightly.

"I'm sorry. I have a lot to think about."

"Me too."

He quirked an eyebrow, "Like what?"

"You know what," he gave her an innocent look. "...Moriarty," she confessed.

Sherlock's frown smoothed out, "You don't need to worry about him."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about Mycroft. Because of who he is… to me… it makes him more vulnerable to Moriarty's taunting. You know what both of you are like when someone even looks at me strangely. And it's not just me, it's Mum as well. He'll use her as –"

"Alex, listen. As much as I hate him, Mycroft is intelligent. You know this. He knows how to control himself better than I do."

"But what if Moriarty hurts him?" Alex blurted out, one of her worst fears out in the open.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow again, "Do you really think your uncle would be that stupid."

Alex ran a hand through her hair, "I don't know anymore… Nothing makes any sense where Moriarty is concerned."

"He scares you," Sherlock stated blankly.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Even knowing the length Mycroft and I would go to keep you safe?"

She didn't answer.

Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right," he mumbled.

"What're you-?" Sherlock closed the step's gap between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and throwing her over his shoulder as if she were just a doll. "Sherlock!"

He elbowed the door open and ascended the stairs, with a laughing Alex being carried along with him. She playfully punched his back from which she was hanging over.

"Put me down! What are you doing?!" she giggled, momentarily care-free.

Sherlock by-passed the living room and went straight up into Alex's bedroom.

"If you're going to think like a child, I'm going to treat you like one," Sherlock said seriously, though there was a flick of humour present.

He opened her door with his free hand, crossed the threshold, and threw her down onto her mattress with an 'oomph' from Alex. He then threw the covers over her head and plucked the childhood teddy that sat on her window sill and threw it at her. She laughed as she caught it.

Sherlock pulled up her desk chair and sat beside her bedside table, selecting a book from her shelf.

"I'm still confused," Alex said.

Sherlock's eyes didn't waver from the page, but Alex could see that he wasn't reading as he replied, "You're getting yourself worried over nothing, like a child worries about the monster under their bed."

"Yeah, but my monster's real," her laugh had gone now.

"But you still needn't worry. There's nothing he can do to any of us anymore. Mycroft has us on maximum surveillance and the press have our faces everywhere, there's nowhere that he can get to us. Now go to sleep," he ordered sternly, his gaze flickering up slightly from the book.

Alex digested this. It was true, and even if it wasn't, there was nothing she could do about it.

"Fine... but I can't sleep with you sat there," she pointed out.

"You used to beg me to stay when you were younger."

Alex grinned fleetingly. She remembered those nights, a lonely girl without her mother, terrified that she was going to lose the rest of her family too, then Sherlock would tell her about the cases he was working on, and she would forget about her problems and get tangled up in someone else's, which was much more enjoyable.

"Well I'm turning over so I don't have to keep looking at your face," she jested.

"Charming," Sherlock muttered, and turned the page.

It wasn't long before Alex fell into a – for once – deep and dreamless sleep. Maybe it was that she knew she could just drift when Sherlock was there, she didn't need to be constantly on guard. And she hadn't slept for a while.

And while Alex gazed at the blank bowels of unconsciousness and Sherlock read about the history of the Cray brothers, the note that Alex had been given earlier that day laid forgotten in the pocket of her coat, left at Mycroft's house, just waiting to be picked up by an unsuspecting uncle.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: FlewandFlied, ShatteredBlue221, OnceUponADeduction, Eternal Cat Moon, rycbar15, Crossing the Galaxy 22, TheArtist59, pandaintheTARDIS, and Abi . Tandy for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you tomorrow as it is very late where I am :)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	84. The Help - Part 1

**isclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I was meant to upload this yesterday, but the internet went off. And the reason I wanted to update yesterday was it was the year anniversary of Exception! I'll have a longer A/N at the bottom of the chapter, but for now, some familiar faces and a whole new plotline! I know it may seem complex, but it shall all become clear over the next few chapters.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_It wasn't long before Alex fell into a – for once – deep and dreamless sleep. Maybe it was that she knew she could just drift when Sherlock was there, she didn't need to be constantly on guard. And she hadn't slept for a while._

_And while Alex gazed at the blank bowels of unconsciousness and Sherlock read about the history of the Cray brothers, the note that Alex had been given earlier that day laid forgotten in the pocket of her coat, left at Mycroft's house._

Alex was annoyed. She had actually managed to sleep the whole night, a feat that she hadn't achieved since Ryan's death. And now, an incessant knocking sound had dragged her from her much needed sleep.

Groaning, she rolled over and saw that Sherlock had also fallen asleep – remarkably – slumping in her desk chair. Again, the knocking continued. She checked her alarm clock – 5:30 am.

"Urgh, if this is FedEx, I'm going to scream," Alex muttered, swinging her bare feet over the bed and walking across her bedroom, down the stairs, down the stairs again, and finally to the front door.

_If they want to wake me up at stupid o'clock, they can deal with my bed-hair._

She hadn't tied it back before she slept and so it had turned into a sort of curly, frizzy afro.

She began to speak as she opened the door, "Look, we haven't ordered–"

Her words were snatched from her throat as hands roughly grabbed her pyjama shirt, pulling her from the doorway and pushing her onto the pavement. She vaguely heard the door shutting before she was pulled to her feet and pinned against the wall.

"You didn't come," alcohol tinged breath warmed the side of her face. "You could have helped me."

It was him again. He looked worse now, more hair than skin and a new layer of grime blurring his features.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," she admitted, shaking a little.

Her looked at her incredulously, "You forgot? You... Forgot? My life... AND YOU FORGOT! It seems like you have quite an awful memory, I was surprised when you didn't recognise me when I first found you."

"What?" Alex frowned. "I'd never seen you before."

He smirked, "Really? Maybe this will rejog your memory."

Adjusting himself so that he was pinning Alex with his elbows, he pulled down the left side of his shirt to reveal a jagged, silvery hole. A healed gunshot wound.

"Do you remember my voice... my screams," he leaned in to whisper. "...Do you remember pulling the trigger?"

Alex gasped sharply, dread flooding her, "Duroch?"

She saw it now, the face of one of her tormentors concealed behind the clumps of facial hair and layers of filth. The crazed, anguished look in his eyes was new, though. She remembered him looking very smug when he thought he had her cornered. He couldn't wait to send her to her death then. But now, he looked the death in human form.

He smiled wryly, "Let myself go, haven't I? Constant fear does that. Paranoia. Not for much longer now, thanks to you. I'd say I have five more minutes before a van comes 'round that corner and I'll get a bullet in my head."

Moriarty. He was one of Moriarty's men. He was one of _them_. She had to get away. She had to run. She had to call for help.

"SHER-!" Duroch's hand slapped over her mouth.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed. "I'm not going to do anything; I just need you to listen."

Alex looked at him incredulously, "Why should I listen to you? You put me through hell!"

"Cos because of you, I nearly died! Tortured! Put through my own hell... It was only because of Will that I survived."

"Wait, wait, wait, Will? _William_? Is he alright? And why were you tortured, I thought _you _were supposed to do that to other people?" Alex blustered. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Jim wasn't best pleased when you got away," Duroch said tremulously. "All of us got it. But Will and I were the worst. He's one of the best assassins in the country, so he knew he could get out, and he said he could get me out too. On the condition that I find you and take you to him. I agreed of course, Jim was gonna have us killed. When I asked Will what he needed from you, he just said that he needed you to help him like he helped you," Duroch sent a wary glance up the street.

"What does he need help with? Where is he?" Alex asked, easing Duroch's hands away now that he knew she wasn't going to run. It was true; William had saved her and April's life. "Why are you here?"

"You must have seen it on the news. The masked man who killed that woman when trying to run from 'plain clothes police'," his voice was laced with venomous sarcasm. "Then went mysteriously missing and turning up in Canterbury Prison? That was Manson, the other one that was part of your abduction. Remember him? They got him and he panicked. Now he's dead."

If it was possible for an assassin to show affection for someone, then that definitely was it. His sadness was soon gone though, replaced with the resentment that seemed have morphed permanently onto his face.

"How, you just said he was in Canterbury?"

"You really think these people can't fiddle some paperwork?"

"And who _are _these people?" Alex was definitely confused.

"We don't know. Some vigilante group probably. All we know is someone's cleaning the streets and people like me are getting taken to a quiet room and shot –" the sound of screeching tires cut Duroch off.

Unbridled terror blossomed in his eyes, along with a couple of tears. He didn't let them fall, he just turned back to Alex as the van braked.

"Will's next, you have to help him," two men opened the doors of the van rapidly. "He was tortured. He's been going between hospitals. Bart's, now. You have to find him before they do! We've all done bad things, Will more than most, but he... just... please."

He grasped her shoulders tightly, looking so scared that Alex could only think to hold him steady. She saw over his shoulder that the men from the van were advancing, sprinting.

"S'gonna be alright, s'gonna be alright," he mumbled fearfully.

Before Alex could respond, Duroch was torn away from her. He stared at her as they dragged him away, communicating the silent plea. Her chest rising and falling rapidly, she gave a tiny, almost unnoticeable nod. She would see William, and then decide if she would help him.

She watched as they bundled him into the van, Duroch going limp in their grasp. He knew it was over. And though Alex knew the atrocities he had committed, she couldn't help a stab of sympathy. The back doors were slammed shut, and the two men walked back over to Alex.

Both were tall and well-built, but she was only able to distinguish the features of one. The other kept his head bent low and his cap conveniently covering most of his face. The other one had his head held proudly up, beaming at Alex with a smile that was wide, but forced.

He held out his hand, and she slowly shook it.

"Well done, darling," his accent was posh. "I don't want to scare you, but this man's a convicted murderer. You've done the community a great favour today."

"I-I didn't do anything," Alex stumbled, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"Nonsense, darling!" he exclaimed jovially – again, faked. "You've helped put this man behind bars... the only thing is... well... I think it would be better if no-one knew about this. I mean, it's better not to let people get themselves all worried and wound up, don't you think, darling?"

_If he calls me darling one more time, I'm going to smack him, _Alex thought distantly, then remembered who he was and what he was doing and told herself to get her priorities straight.

"Uh, yeah, whatever. If you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

"My name's Charlie Walker and this is my colleague Brandon Heighington. We're plain clothes police. We blend in with the crowd to gain the element of surprise and –"

"Yeah, I know how plain clothes police works," Alex snapped. "I'm just wondering what you're going to do with this man."

He looked surprise, "Well we'll arrest him, darling."

"No, you've already done that. What are you going to do with him after?"

He bristled. The fake smile was dropped all together for a moment, before returning in a strained bearing of the teeth, "I don't really think that's your problem, darling. Now we've got to go and take this _murderer, _this _scum, _where he belongs. If you have an issue with that, you can write a formal complaint down at the Yard. Have a nice day."

The man with the cap nodded to her, and they both walked back to the van.

Alex watched them drive away, her eyes lingering on the back of the van where she knew Duroch was lying, waiting for death.

"Alex? What're you doing up so early?"

John. She turned from the roadside to face him stood in the doorway, "What're _you _doing up so early?"

"I went to get a cup of tea and saw you talking to two men just now from the window. Reporters?" he asked.

She relaxed, he hadn't seen Duroch.

"Yeah, anything for a story."

He smiled sympathetically, "I got ambushed on the way to work. I feel like giving them a clout most times."

Alex laughed faintly, her mind on the information she had just been given.

John cleared his throat after a few moments of silence, "So... you planning on standing here till noon?"

She snapped out of her stupor abruptly, "Sorry. Uh, yeah, I'm coming."

They began to ascend the stairs, John taking the lead. As she followed him into the living room, she realised how quiet it was. No violin being plucked, no groans of boredom, no smashing of a Petri dish.

"Is Sherlock _still _asleep?" Alex asked incredulously.

John coughed awkwardly, "Yes... tea?"

She nodded, raising an eyebrow, "That was a very suspicious 'yes', Doctor Watson."

John made a point to reach into the cupboard, hiding his face as he replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Hmm... So if I went into the medicine cabinet, I wouldn't see any sleeping pills missing whatsoever?"

"He needed them! He hadn't slept for days!" John defended.

"No, no, I'm not judging you. I'm just impressed that you were able to slip them to him without him noticing. I've tried and failed that on many an occasion."

"Why were you trying to drug your uncle anyway?" John asked.

"I was going through a phase when I thought that I wasn't complete as a teenager if I hadn't tried smoking and Mycroft caught me," Alex sighed embarrassedly. "Needless to say, I was put under house arrest, but I wanted to go to a party and... yeah, you get the picture."

John chuckled, handing her a mug of tea.

"So what are your plans today?" he asked.

Alex stared down into the dark liquid, able to see a bouncing reflection of herself in the ripples. She hated lying to John.

"I'm going to see Molly," she said, still gazing into her mug.

"Don't sound too happy about it," he said good-naturedly. "We could share a taxi on my way to the surgery. What time are you thinking of going?"

"Uh, now," she nodded firmly to herself, repeating much more quietly. "Now."

"My shift doesn't start for another two hours..." he trailed off apologetically.

"It's fine, I'll just take my own cab," she assured him.

She finished her tea and left to get changed, slipping a few essential items into a bag for if she decided to help him... that was a very, _very _big if.

* * *

><p>It was strange not heading down to the morgue when Alex got to St Bart's. She was that immersed in her thoughts that she had begun to go down there, her legs moving on autopilot, before she realised and turned around.<p>

When she had gone to the desk, she had asked about a William, and which ward he was on. The receptionist gave her an 'are you serious?' look and told her that there were a lot of Wills and Williams. But when Alex began to describe him, the receptionist's eyes had widened.

"Oh, John? Scottish?"

"Yes!" Alex nodded rapidly.

"He hasn't been coherent since he came here so he hasn't given us a name. We've just been calling him John Doe unofficially. Are you a relative?" she asked.

"Family friend."

"Okay, well don't expect him to acknowledge that you're there, he's on some pretty strong medication. Mood stabilizers and sedatives, that kind of thing. He's up on the psychiatric ward, room 4."

Alex thanked her and rushed off to where the woman pointed. Three flights of stairs later, and Alex was stood outside room 4 of the psych ward. A nurse was in, Alex noted, as she stood in the doorway. The woman fussed around a sleeping William, checking his chart, adjusting the IV drip, and carefully checking whatever wound laid hidden under the layer of bandages on his forehead. The nurse then looked up at Alex and smiled.

"You here for patient visitation?"

Alex nodded.

"I'm glad. He hasn't had anyone since he's come here. It'll be nice for him to see a familiar face if he stops sleeping. Just refrain from waking him up, though. He needs his rest."

With that, the nurse left, leaving Alex stood in the doorway. The soft beeping of the machines and the smell of sterility and disinfectant brought back memories that Alex didn't care to relive, but she stayed, and looked at William.

His dark hair was matted and tangled, but clean. His skin was pale and littered with steri-strips and bandages, an oxygen mask over his mouth. And judging from the padding on the inside of his hospital gown, he had a pretty large wound across his abdomen. But the IV drip only held clear fluid, not blood, so the wound couldn't have been that deep.

Alex thought back to the time she usually tried to block out. The water rising above her, the excruciating cold, the terror. William had watched her heart stop... she could watch his do the same, if she wanted to. But she wouldn't. He had helped her, he had helped April. He had saved their lives. She couldn't take his, no matter what he had done.

"William, I know you're awake," Alex said quietly. "Your breathing pattern's all wrong."

She saw his eyes twitch beneath his lids at her voice.

"I'm alone," she added.

His eyes opened. He regarded her for a moment, giving her an unreadable look, and she giving an equally discernible one back. Slowly, he reached up the mask, and pulled it from his mouth. His chapped lips pulled up into a smile.

"You look good," he said.

"You don't."

He gave a breathy, humourless chuckle, "I don't suppose I do."

"Nice job, by the way. Getting yourself into a psych ward. Private room, clever," she noted.

"Acting insane is a lot harder than you would think. So is keeping your eyes from flickering when they hold a hand in front of your face to make sure that you're really asleep."

A silence stretched between them, and it was a couple of minutes before Alex walked over and sat in the chair beside William's bed. His eyes watched every move she made.

"Your friend," Alex began with difficulty. "He... he said that you needed me."

"We both need you, Duroch and I."

"Duroch's dead."

William paused, and for a moment, Alex thought he was about to cry. But then, he smirked, folding his fingers under his chin, an action that looked vaguely familiar.

"Good."

"Good?" Alex echoed in confusion.

"He was a murderer."

"So are you," Alex pointed out.

"I repented."

"So did _he."_

"No!" William snapped angrily, before taking a breath and calming down. "No. _I_ repented to save your lives. _He _repented to save his own. That isn't repentance, that is cowardice. That's just doing whatever you can to save your own skin."

"It still didn't save him... But why did you help him if you wished him dead?" Alex asked.

"I knew I could get away from Jim initially. No problems there. It was afterwards that I would need the help," his voice broke a little from lack of use. He cleared his throat and continued. "I knew someone would be after me, whether it be Jim or another criminal cell wanting me to work for them. I knew I needed someone I could trust to help me disappear. I couldn't trust any of the people I work with. I needed someone on the outside, someone innocent that I trusted. That person is you. That's why I needed Duroch, to get a message to you. I knew I wouldn't be able to go to you myself, my injuries would get me killed if I was caught, so I brought Duroch along," William explained, his knuckles going a little white on the metal frame of the bed. "I needed hospital treatment first. And then Duroch would wait until I was here before going to you."

Alex guessed he was in a lot of pain.

"Why me? Why do you trust me?"

He smiled softly, and that unreadable look came back into his eye, "Just be glad that I do."

"No, if I'm helping you, you have to be completely open with me. Why do you trust me? I could just hand you straight over to my uncles and you'd wish you'd stayed with Moriarty," Alex said seriously. "Or I could just go now and let these people kill you with the other murderers they're rounding up. I'll ask you again, why do you trust me?"

"You remind me of someone I knew a very long time ago."

Alex stood up, taking the beanie hat from her head and worrying it between her fingers and walking over to the window. She was conflicted. She had come here with the mindset that she would talk to William, tell him how she couldn't help him, and then leave him be. But now, looking at him again, seeing the wounds that had been inflicted upon him simply because he had helped her...

"William, I–"

Alex heard the screech before she saw the van. She stopped mid-sentence and fell into a crouch under the window. She gazed wide-eyed at William. He stared back.

"Help me."

* * *

><p><strong>William's back! I've had this planned since his first appearance and I couldn't wait to write it :) And this mysterious group rounding up murderers... hmm... And of course the letter that's still at Mycroft's...<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, BookPond, Fantasy-Mania31, emilybrock101, 3broomstix, Eternal Cat Moon, J-walker, LoyalElf, Crossing the Galaxy 22, rose and sherloki'd, and kitty kat wings for reviewing!**

**Replies will be sent to you soon!**

**Also, the amazing Kitty Kat Wings has done another fantastic drawing of Alex! The link is on her profile, check it out! It's brilliant!**

**Okay, here's the long speech. You can skip if you want, but I would quite like you to read it. Yesterday was exactly a year ago when I wrote the first chapter of Exception. I had told myself that I wouldn't publish it because I was convinced that my writing wasn't good enough for this site. However, I decided that I would on the off-chance that one or two people might like it. I honestly never thought in a million years that I would still be going a year on and that the story would have as much interest as it does. I am so grateful to absolutely everyone who has reviewed, because each and every one of you have brightened my days over this past year and so I'd like to send you all a virtual hug :D.**

**Also, to ****_GO GET IT_****. You may remember the amazing review that you gave me in the summer (I certainly do!) encouraging me to talk to my teachers and to get my writing out there. I did, and she wasn't that interested. But I listened to you and kept writing and entering competitions etc. and now I have won eight competitions, one of them under 16s worldwide. This has boosted my confidence so much and has dramatically improved my writing. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and review. I wish there were more people like you that would give encouragement and advice to people like me :).**

**So thank you to everyone who has reviewed, as you have all encouraged me, complimented me, improved me, and motivated me to become a better writer over this past year. Thank you to all of you.**

**Thanks for reading and sticking with me,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	85. The Help - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Nice longer than usual chapter. This chapter took ****_so _****many rewrites, which is the reason for the short delay. I just couldn't seem to make it flow right, but I'm finally happy with this one :) and I break up for a week on Thursday so I should have a few good chapters under my belt.**

**Oh, and if I didn't mention it already, I have published the prequel. I'm two chapters in and the third will follow soon.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex stood up, taking the beanie hat from her head and worrying it between her fingers and walking over to the window. She was conflicted. She had come here with the mindset that she would talk to William, tell him how she couldn't help him, and then leave him be. But now, looking at him again, seeing the wounds that had been inflicted upon him simply because he had helped her..._

_"William, I–"_

_Alex heard the screech before she saw the van. She stopped mid-sentence and fell into a crouch under the window. She gazed wide-eyed at William. He stared back._

_"Help me."_

Everything slowed down. It was like there was a padding around Alex's senses, drowning out some and heightening others. She could see the little scarlet veins standing out like hair-line fractures on William's widening eyes. She could see the little hairs on his neck prickle up, and tendons protrude as he fought against his pain and fear. But loudest, clearest of all, she could hear his breaths. Soft, shaking, and desperate.

She had made her decision.

"I take it you know how to get out of here?" Alex asked without a flicker of emotion – that would come later.

He smirked triumphantly for a moment, then, like Alex, became serious.

"The air vent," he nodded to the metal rectangle, just big enough to fit the both of them in if they laid down.

"You'd think they'd wise up and make them smaller," Alex said as she let her backpack fall off her shoulder.

She unzipped it as William struggled to pull himself out of the bed. Alex kept her eyes on the contents of her bag for the sake of his pride. She grabbed the screwdriver she had packed and crossed the room, beginning to dismantle the metal grate.

There was a soft curse of pain from William, but it was the increased beeping that caught Alex's attention. She looked over her shoulder, still unscrewing, and saw William hunched over the monitor for the drip. He was fiddling with the controls and increasing the dose of something.

"That morphine?" Alex asked.

He nodded, "Just getting enough to get me through the next few hours."

Alex turned back to the grate and lifted the cover off. She lowered it quietly to the ground.

"Come on."

Without flinching (no surprise with the amount of morphine he had taken), William pulled out his cannula and walked unsteadily over to Alex.

"I'll need help," he admitted begrudgingly.

"Of course."

Alex pulled the chair over and helped William to stand on it. She held his hands as he first positioned his left leg inside the opening, and supported his upper-body as he managed to get his other leg in. He slid further until his chin was resting where the cover was meant to be. Even with the medication, a thin sheen of pain-induced sweat sparkled on his forehead.

Alex could hear voices – raised voices. It was them. They were at the psych ward reception.

"Alex," William coughed, holding his chest. "Put the chair back to where it was and pull that IV drip over here."

She hurriedly obliged.

"But how am I supposed to get up without the chair?" Alex pointed out.

The voices were getting closer. Someone was shouting.

"Do a handstand up the wall."

"What?"

"Just do it, damn it!"

Alex had never been a girl particularly gifted in gymnastics, but a handstand was within her capabilities. As she threw up her legs, William caught her ankles. He gave a gasp of pain but held on and began to pull her up.

"Right," he grated through gritted teeth. "Grab the cover and bag, and ... and pull the drip over to hide the grate."

Still hanging half out of the vent, she threw the bag up to Will, who shimmied it over his body and kicked it behind him in the tunnel.

The voices were louder now.

Closer now.

They were outside the door.

She was still suspended.

"Will!" Alex hissed hysterically.

The door was opening. She was half up.

They burst in.

* * *

><p>It was down there. She could see it. But the question was, could <em>they <em>see it? If they could, it was game over. William had _just _managed to pull her up in time, and she had _just _managed to pull the cover back over the opening, the long pole and the bags of fluid of the IV drip concealing them.

But, just as William had given the final tug, Alex purple knitted beanie hat had fallen from her head. She had worn it to hide her identity, but now it could be the very thing that exposed it.

Alex's breath was almost silent against the metal vents, her fingers holding the cover on. Without the screws though, she had to hold it on tightly, causing the sharp edges of the metal to cut into the tips of her fingers. The all-too-familiar feeling of adrenaline was too strong to allow the sting.

It was _there. _Fallen amongst the wires and tubes spouting from the IV drip stand. If she could only...

William squeezed her shin from his position behind her. He knew what she was thinking.

"Wait," he mouthed at her as she turned to face him.

She nodded and turned back to survey the room. William was smarter than her, he knew what he was doing and she had to trust him.

The same two men that had taken Duroch were back. They were dressed the same as they had been that morning, one with a cap pulled over his face, the other freely expressing his anger and running a hand over his mouth.

Alex narrowed her eyes at the tell-tale bulge in his pocket. She wondered what type it was. A Webley? A Browning? Would they have shot William with it now, when he was lying in his bed helpless and wounded? Or would they have dragged him out to the van to torture him a little more before killing him? Would they have laid him out next to Duroch, thrown them in the Thames and then gone home to their families?

Charlie Walker – the uncapped man – kicked the chair for visitors in frustration. The split in the lime-green seat widened.

"Damn it!" he yelled. "We were _so close. _This was the one the boss wanted. He's the one he's been looking for for _years!_ This could have been the highlight of our careers! Do you realise how much we would be commended for this?"

Brandon (Haying? Howie?) nodded and took his cap off to rub his bald head.

Alex swallowed her gasp, forcing it back in her throat and making her ribs hurt. She squashed her palm against her lips. She knew that man. And his name wasn't Brandon anything. His name was Joseph Bainbridge. He used to babysit her sometimes, he worked for Mycroft.

William tapped her leg, cocking his head at her in confusion.

"What?" he mouthed.

Alex shook her head, signalling that she would tell him once they were safe.

"How could he get away?" Walker picked up the bloodied bandages that William had removed from his head and shook them viciously. "He was supposed to be almost decapitated!"

"He must have had help," Joseph said. "You're right, there's no way he could have gotten out alone with the injuries he had. That's if that Duroch was telling the truth and he really was wounded."

Walker groaned and ran a hand across his forehead, "The boss is going to kill us. He's been after this one long before I started. Now some other bastard's gonna cop him first and get the credit!"

"Shouldn't we get out the front? We could still nab him if he's running away."

"I've got the rest of the unit monitoring the area. Not that that will do any good," he added in a grumble. "We're just going to have to wait for his next mistake. They always make mistakes when they're on the run, if my experience is anything to go by. No one can live like that. There are too many impediments – human nature itself being one of them. If he needs food, he'll rob a shop. He needs shelter, he'll check in at a B&B. And _when _he needs help, he'll trust someone he shouldn't. That's when we'll get him."

Walker turned on his heel, giving the room a final glance of distain, and walked out into the corridor.

Joseph, however, lingered. Alex felt her heart begin to thump rapidly as he walked over to the IV stand. She watched through the holes of the air vent grate, frozen as he tilted one of the bags of fluid up to the light. He frowned and let it fall back. They were so close. Alex held her breath. His face was not a foot away from hers.

His eyes began to wander down to the floor. Almost to the hat... getting closer... getting closer.

"Joe!"

He turned to the sound of Walker's voice coming from the corridor. He walked a few paces towards the open door and stuck his head around. In that moment, William nipped the tender skin on the back of Alex's ankle and hissed,

"Go!"

Not wasting a precious second, Alex tightened her grip on the grate and gently lifted it forward from where she had been holding it shut. She transferred the metal to one hand, and allowed William to lower her down to the floor. She had snatched up the hat and placed the cover back over by the time Joseph turned back. Five seconds, if that.

He looked over to the IV stand suspiciously, like he knew there was something different about the picture but not knowing what. After a few suspenseful seconds, he shrugged bemusedly and followed in his partner's steps out of the room.

Alex watched where the back of his head had been, not wanting to believe the conclusion that she was fast coming to. _How could Joseph be here...?_ Another wrench on her legs brought her back to the situation at hand.

"We need to move fast," William said. "You're going to have to shuffle."

"You need to move first before I can."

"One minute," his voice was strained as he clutched at his abdomen.

"Are you alright?" Alex asked in concern.

"I'll be fine, we just need to get out of here."

He exhaled noisily and began to shuffle back, Alex following him with a frown on her features.

They continued like this for the next five minutes, until they came to a fork in the system of catacomb-like tunnels of ventilation. William immediately went left, not needing a moment to think.

"Are you sure it's this way?" Alex asked carefully, not wanting to upset him nor choose the direction that could get them killed.

"In a minute we should come to a drop," he stuck his head around the corner in front of him. "Yep. I hope you have strong arm and leg muscles."

An inkling of dread coloured Alex's voice, "Why?"

William didn't answer. He stopped and waited for Alex to catch up, her head poking out from around the bend.

"Oh."

The passageway came to a dead-end. In the flooring, there was a shiny manhole cover. William lifted it off and leant it against the wall. Alex peered down at whistled.

There was a narrow vertical drop about the size of a three storey house. The drop was sheer, and the walls shiny, metal, and smooth.

"How are we meant to get down there?"

Again, William didn't answer and dangled his legs into the hole, sitting on the edge. It looked strangely like sitting on the edge of a swimming pool to test the water. Except from the fact that it was a tiny, ridiculously deep empty swimming pool.

"Lock your arms and stretch your legs so that your feet press against the sides of the passage," William instructed. "Then you just shimmy downwards. You must have done that in the playground as a kid. Used two walls that were close together and see how far you managed to get up before you fell?"

"I'm not going to be able to do this," Alex said honestly. "I'm not Spiderman like you."

"I'll be first. If you fall, I'll be able to support you long enough for you to hold yourself back up against the wall."

He waited for her slow and resigned nod before disappearing into the hole, making Alex scurry to him in alarm. She looked down and saw him moving swiftly downwards as he had said, groaning in pain every other movement.

Alex took a deep breath and followed him. She kept her arms taut against the cold metal and splayed out her legs in a straddle. When her legs moved down, her arms would take her weight. Then her arms would move further down to meet her legs, and the legs would take the weight. It became mechanical, brainless after a while. She only slipped once and landed on William's shoulders, who grunted and told her to pay more attention to what she was doing.

They finally reached the bottom, by which time Alex was covered in sweat. Her muscles ached and she thought that she had it bad, until she looked at William. His shirt was practically sodden and his face was twisted into pure agony.

She hurriedly put her hand on his shoulder, "Will? Do you need to stop? We can stop for a minute if you need to."

He tilted his head away from her and composed himself. He slipped on a mask of indifference and answered evenly,

"I'm fine. We need to keep going."

They were both stood now at the bottom of the drop in the tight space. Their bodies were just a few inches apart and at their knees was another shaft. William held his hand out for her in indication.

"You first this time."

Alex thought that it was because he (for the sake of his manly pride) didn't want her to see him in pain, but as they carried on shuffling along the now straight passageway, she realised that it was because this was where they were to split up. They came to another fork, and she craned her neck around to face William.

"Which way do I go?"

He gave her a light smirk, as if proud that she had figured it out that they were going separate ways without him telling her.

He shoved her backpack into her hand, "I need you to go left. Keep going for thirty-eight seconds and you'll come to the morgue. Make sure no-one's around and climb out. Meet me round the back behind the skips."

"And you'll be there?"

"Of course."

Alex looked up the passage to the left and chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to leave William in the condition that he was in, she knew she wouldn't be able to go on if she was in that state. But then she remembered the night that she had escaped from that God-forsaken funhouse. Terror that she had never experienced before and a knife in her side. She had managed to keep going. She had known that she couldn't stop because if she did, she would have never found the strength to keep going again.

"Be careful," she told him seriously, and went left, leaving him alone.

He, as he did infuriatingly often, didn't reply.

* * *

><p>Just as William had predicted, it took exactly thirty-eight seconds to get to the morgue. She had taken out the screwdriver from the bag and taken off the grate, climbing out and fixing the damage before Molly entered, engrossed in some corpse's medical chart. The woman jumped as she saw Alex.<p>

"Oh! Alex, you startled me there! You're getting too much like Sherlock," she laughed in that mousy, cheery way of hers.

Alex smiled back, her thumbs tucked under the straps of her backpack, "Fancy that. I was just leaving anyway."

"You've just got here."

"I just came to pick something up for Sherlock," Alex lied, cursing herself mentally. She hated lying to the people she cared about.

"If it's more body parts, tell him I can't this week. Management are breathing down my neck for the inspection," Molly said, fussing now over her computer.

"No just," Alex took the tool from her pocket. "Screwdriver. He left it here yesterday."

"Oh. Okay, well, see you later. Will you and your uncle be here tomorrow?" she asked, obviously trying to keep the hope from her voice and remain nonchalant. She failed.

"He probably will be. He can't stay away for long."

Molly blushed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Alex edged towards the door.

"Right, well, I'd better be going. See you soon."

Molly gave her a wave, but Alex was already gone.

She slowed down as she came to the reception and kept her gaze to the floor, her hat pulled over her face. He was there. Walker. He was leaning against the reception desk as the woman rabbited on about patient confidentiality, looking like he wanted nothing more than to put the gun in his pocket against her head. It occurred to Alex why he didn't just whip out his fake police badge, but it looked like he had given up anyway.

Alex walked past him, trying to be as casual as possible and tilt her head away from him.

_Look down. Don't look him in the eye._

From the corner of her peripheral vision, she saw him glance at her, linger for a moment, then look away disinterestedly. She let out a subtle sigh of relief and quickened her pace a little to get outside. The cold hit her instantly after being in the warm for so long, and Alex could feel her cheeks beginning to redden as she skirted around the building to the skips where William had told her he would be waiting behind.

At first, Alex couldn't see him, but then she spotted a tuft of his unkempt hair peeking out from over the top of the yellow battered industrial disposal bins. She jogged over to him. He had his eyes closed. She couldn't see him breathing.

"William?" Alex fell to her knees in front of him. "Come on, wake up."

He didn't respond, but that wasn't unusual. His eyes remained tight shut. Panic rose in Alex's throat.

"Will?" she slapped his face softly. "William, wake up right now!"

He groaned at the order. His body seem to jumpstart then, breathing becoming more noticeable and eyes opening a fraction. But his pupils were unfocussed. If he was in pain before, he was in excruciation now. He didn't have the strength to bat her away as she lifted up the shirt he was wearing – the doctors hadn't yet had a chance to change him into a hospital gown.

Beneath the fabric was a mess. The bandage that had wrapped up his wound was now drenched with blood and hanging off. Through the crimson liquid, Alex could clearly identify at least three severely broken ribs.

"William..." Alex let the shirt fall back down in shock.

He grasped her wrist tightly and spoke with a slur, "Pocket... go in my... pocket."

"Trouser?"

He nodded.

Alex reached into the pocket and carefully retrieved its contents. It was a mobile phone. Alex held in the power button, but the screen remained blank.

"It's dead," she told him.

He shook his head and pointed to his left foot, "...sock."

Alex carefully removed his shoe and peeled back the sock. She smiled a little in amazement. There laid a little rectangular battery and SIM card nestled against the ball of his foot.

"Untraceable," William answered breathily, a ghost of a smirk on his face.

She slotted the components into the back of the phone. The screen burst to life and three messages popped up.

**Will mate the cars ready for u – D**

**Iv told her she will B there – D**

**William! Its been a wile hasnt it. U wantin some stuff then or what? Give us a bell – U Know Who**

"Apparently you have a text from Voldemort," Alex said, trying to bring a real smile to William's face.

She failed. She stuck to the facts and relayed the message to him.

"Text him back... tell him to –" William groaned in pain and doubled over.

Alex put a hand on his shoulder, "Come on, you can do this. Tell him what?"

William swallowed noisily and took a breath, "Tell him to meet at the... usual place."

Alex hurriedly typed back.

**Meet me at the usual place – W**

"What now?"

"You need to go to Stunden Street. Go to a... a gift shop called... Linksuma. Give them my name. Take what they give you. Bring it back to me," William's face contorted with the effort of speaking.

"And what will they give me?" Alex asked suspiciously. Stunden Street didn't have the best of reputations.

"They won't hurt you," William said, avoiding Alex's question. "Just mention my name and no-one will touch you."

Alex hesitated, looking up the road for a moment. This was stupid, reckless and completely disregarding every instinct in her body – all but one of which were screaming for her to just get the hell away. But of course, she listened to the one that told her to stay. None were telling her to go to Stunden.

"William, I've done this for you, you can't expect me to –"

"I know, and I'm grateful," he said sincerely. "I really am, Alex. You've saved my life… But it won't count for much if you don't do as I tell you now… Please… Just do this one more thing for me."

Alex sighed and looked away.

* * *

><p>Alex had never been down Stunden Street before. It had the reputation of being one of the dodgiest places in London, filled to the brim with shady characters and backhanded deals. Combine that with the dingy overhanging roofs and poky shop fronts and you have the place where every parent forbids their child to go.<p>

Vaguely, Alex wondered what her own mother would say if she could see her daughter now, hood low over her face and walking between the scum of the Earth. Probably string Mycroft and Sherlock up by their toes for allowing it to happen.

_This is my decision, not theirs, _Alex thought firmly.

The street itself was easy to find, the problem was finding the shop. The names above the doors had been worn away or stolen for scrap metal, which made identifying one from the other extremely difficult. Time was running forward and she was running in circles. Finally, seeing no other option, Alex tapped a man leaning against a shop window on the shoulder.

He turned to face her with a grunt.

"Whatchoo want?" he growled with a foreign accent, stubbly jowls wavering as he spoke.

"Sorry to bother you. I'm looking for Linsummer –"

"Eh? Linsummer? Y'mean _Linksuma_?"

"Yes!"

"Ah. My cousin owns it. 'Ere, I'll take ya."

Alarm bells rang in Alex's head, "Uh, it's alright, you can just tell me where and I'll –"

"No, no. It's no trouble," the man held out a filthy arm, which Alex had no choice but to take.

He led her through the crowds, a proud disconcerting grin on his face, as if he had caught the prize deer in a shoot. Alex swallowed, and ignored the heckles raising on the back of her neck.

"Y'know Linksuma is Lithuanian, where my family is from," the man said.

"Oh."

"It is a combination of the words 'linksmas' and 'sausuma'. Do you know what that means in English?"

"No."

He stopped abruptly, causing Alex to jolt forward before catching her footing again. Glancing up at the shop that they had stopped in front of, Alex could make out the faded lettering of LINKSUMA.

The man turned to her with a maniacal beam, "It means Happy Land."

He gave her a sharp shove, and suddenly she was through the door. Everything was dark and murky, with posters of an explicit nature and advertisements for all manner of things. It was small but crowded, and all went silent as Alex walked in.

"And who have we got here?" a drab-haired, slurring woman asked first.

"Bit younger than usual," another noted.

"Check out the newbie."

"Giving it a go?" another asked.

"I-I want to see whoever's in charge," Alex said tremulously.

To say she was intimidated would be an understatement. A severe understatement.

"Well that would be me," a deep, booming voice said from behind her.

Alex spun on her heel, pushing down a gasp. A tall, tanned-skinned man stood in the doorway with an amused look on his face. His arms were folded and eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"I need to pick something up."

Someone was behind her, running a hand through her hair. Alex pushed the sensation away and kept her gaze fixed on the man in front of her.

"For yourself?"

"For a friend."

"And what would that friend's name be."

The person behind her was getting closer, Alex could feel it as she replied, "William."

Suddenly, the hand was gone and a new one grabbed her wrist. The man in charge's amused demeanour dropped as he whipped Alex past the desk and through the back of the shop behind the till. His hold remained as he slammed the door behind them.

"You know William?" he asked urgently

"Yes. I was the one who texted you earlier. It _was_ you, wasn't it?" Alex quickly backtracked.

He nodded, "William is a friend. What does he need?"

"He needs… he… he didn't tell me," Alex faltered and realised how stupid she had been not to ask. "He said that you would know."

"Where is he?"

"I can't tell you. It's too risky," Alex said, whispering for emphasis.

"He's in trouble," the man nodded and gritted his teeth. "Is he injured?"

"Badly. He was barely conscious when I left him. He said it was important that I came here or he would die," Alex explained rapidly, her voice warbling.

The man put a hand to his head in thought, then let it fall back to his side, "I know exactly what you need. Wait here."

Alex did as he said as he disappeared into the annex of a room. There was the sound of ripping plastic and tearing cardboard, and finally, the rustling of a carrier bag before he returned. He thrust the bag into Alex's hand. She tried to look in, but he stopped her.

"Just get back to Will as soon as you can. From what you're saying, he doesn't have long left."

Alex nodded and turned to leave, but stopped as he spoke again.

"You're a brave girl."

Unsure of what to reply with, Alex just gave him a nod and carried on her path.

* * *

><p>It was beginning to rain as Alex returned back to the alley of St Bart's. William was just as she had left him, albeit a shade paler and an extra layer of sweat covering his skin. Alex practically threw the package at him. He immediately opened it with trembling hands and turned his back to Alex so that she couldn't see the contents. He put something to his arm and in a second, his rigid and taut muscles relaxed, and he breathed a sigh of relief.<p>

"Thank you," he said sincerely, turning back to Alex.

"Well this it. I've done everything you've asked. I've got you out, I've saved your life, I'm ensuring your life stays saved with whatever illegal drugs are probably in that bag. And now I'm done. I'm going home, we're going our separate ways. I've paid off my debt, and now I'm finished," Alex said resolutely, and made to leave.

"Wait!"

Alex gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to groan.

_Just walk away, just leave! Go home!_

"Alex," he moaned.

Reluctantly, she turned.

"What?"

He gazed at her for a moment with exaggeratedly helpless eyes, "One more thing for me."

"No."

"Please."

"No, William."

"One more tiny thing and I know that I can survive this... Just one more... One more favour," he pleaded. "Then I'll leave you alone, I swear… You can go home and do whatever you want with your life knowing that you didn't let me die."

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes closed in frustration.

"…What do you need me to do?" she asked wearily.

He gave her an innocent smile, "Can you drive?"

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: kitty kat wings, ShatteredBlue221, rycbar15, FlewandFlied, OnceUponADeduction, BookPond, 3broomstix, Teddybear0410, Guest, mercenary2 . 0, and shnuffeluv for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you soon.**

**Check out the prequel!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	86. The Help - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! An update a day early, wooh! Thank half-term for that :). I'm also going to be travelling down to London on Friday to see a show and travel around the city since I love it so much. Anyone reading live there? Very jealous if so! Anyway, this chapter is going to reveal a lot about William and leave some questions unanswered.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"One more tiny thing and I know that I can survive this... Just one more... One more favour," he pleaded. "Then I'll leave you alone, I swear… You can go home and do whatever you want with your life knowing that you didn't let me die."_

_Alex pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes closed in frustration._

_"…What do you need me to do?" she asked wearily._

_He gave her an innocent smile, "Can you drive?"_

Alex gave him a blank look, "Drive?"

He nodded earnestly.

"You," she gave a breath of humourless laughter. "You're asking me to drive you somewhere?"

William now looked confused, "Yes. Haven't you got your driving license yet?"

"No, of course I haven't! I have another two years before I can begin to learn how to drive!"

William's face fell as he digested this information, then slapped a hand to his face and groaned, "No, no, no, no, _stupid, _absolutely _stupid."_

Alex shifted awkwardly on her feet as William muttered insults to himself.

"Well, if that's all you needed me for, I'd better," she motioned to the opening of the alley and began to follow her hand, when William dived forward and grabbed her other one.

"What are you doing?!" Alex exclaimed, trying to wriggle free.

"I need to get away from here. I have the car, I have the destination, I have everything but a driver -"

"That's too bad, find another one."

He gave her a pointed look, "You know I can't. You're the only person that I trust."

Alex licked her lips and knelt down in front of him, making him release his hold on her once he realised that she wasn't going to run.

"I don't understand what you're asking me to do. It's impossible for me to drive you anywhere, I have never driven before. All it will do is attract unwanted attention to ourselves, which is the last thing we want and need. You need to see this objectively, William."

"And so do you," William retorted heatedly. "You know that it isn't _impossible _for you to drive unnoticed. You have the brain and the skills of someone far older than you. It wouldn't take you long at all to pick it up. You could go through the back roads and the quiet streets. No one will take any notice."

"And what if we do get caught? Do you realise what would happen to me? My uncles would skin me alive and then I would be persecuted for helping a known assassin. On the basis of what, he saved my life that one time? That'll be a great excuse."

William put a hand on her shoulder, more gentle than he had ever been around her before.

"You won't get caught. And if we do, I'll make sure that none of it becomes your problem."

"And how would you –" Alex's eyes widened as she realised what he was planning. "No."

"Alex –"

"No!"

"It's my decision –"

"You aren't going to say that I'm your hostage! Look, if worst comes to worst and we do get caught, there's a chance in court that you could say that you repented and saved me at the funhouse. That could be the difference between just a few decades or life in prison," Alex argued. "I won't do it."

William let his hand drop and his face clouded, "I didn't want to have to make you. But I will, Alex, and that isn't fun for either of us."

Alex blinked, recoiling a little in hurt, "You're… you're threatening me?"

"I don't want to have to, but if it is my only option –"

"After all I've done for you today, you're threatening me," Alex whispered in disbelief.

"That just proves how desperate I am!" William yelled, raising his voice for the first time. He cast a worried look up the alley and forced himself to calm down. "You really wouldn't leave me here to die."

There was a pause.

"Where do you need to go?" Alex asked monotonously.

William's mouth dropped open in surprise, "You'll do it?"

"Hurry up and tell me where you need to go before I change my mind."

He smiled, "Help me up, I'll take you."

Curtesy of the late Duroch, just a few streets away was a parked black Vauxhall Corsa, with conveniently tinted windows in the back. It was small, scuffed and perfect for blending in. Alex helped William into the backseat. The colour that he had gained from the drugs was fading now with the strain of the journey, and he needed another dose to make the pain bearable. Alex dutifully made herself busy while he did so.

Slipping into the driver's seat, Alex tried to ignore the voice that was screaming inside her head. This was ridiculously, unbelievably reckless. Alex turned around to face William once she heard his sigh of relief as the drugs began to take effect.

"So… how do you drive?"

"You've literally _never _driven before? Not even pretended to when you were little?" William asked incredulously.

"Well yeah, but the keys were never in and I was so small that I needed to sit on the Next Directory just to see over the steering wheel."

"Okay, so, see the three pedals?"

Alex turned back in her seat so that she was facing the right way and looked down, "Yep."

"The one closest to the door is accelerate, the next one along is to brake and the last one you use if you are going to change gear. But I'll tell you that when you come to change gear, don't worry. Just go slowly and you'll be fine. Just follow the Sat-Nav on my phone and it'll take you straight to where we need to be."

Alex blew out a calming breath and nodded. The keys were already in the ignition, and Alex jumped slightly as she turned it, the car roaring to life.

"William, just in advance, if I kill us both horrifically, I'm really, _really _sorry."

In the back of the car, clinging onto the armrest, William pondered the fact that the girl in front of him had solved countless murders with her uncle, seen hundreds of corpses, watched people she cared about die in front of her, been stabbed, beaten, drowned, _killed… _and yet, she was making a bigger deal out of such an everyday scenario.

"Will, am I going too fast?"

"Will, is this right?"

"Will, am I swerving too much?"

"Will, someone's going to see how young I am aren't they?"

He had assured her that no, she wasn't going too fast, yes, that was right, no, she wasn't swerving too much, and that no one was going to see that she was young because she had her hat on and she looked a lot older than her age. That didn't seem to calm her though, as when he asked why she was calling him 'Will' all of a sudden, she said that it was less syllables so that she could concentrate more on the road. And when he asked for the radio on… the term road rage comes to mind.

* * *

><p>Eventually, Alex somewhat settled into the role of driving and stopped bouncing off the curb and swerving. It was better once they got onto the main road. Traffic was blessedly sparse and it was relief to be on a straight road. If she didn't think about it too much, it was okay. She convinced herself that she wasn't going to flip the car over and burn William and herself to death, anyway.<p>

Nevertheless, it was a relief to finally pull up at the destination indicated by the phone. A small, out-of-the-way motel. Alex got out and helped William to clamber out. She stopped for a moment to admire her parking skills.

"Hmm," William hummed, also looking at the car. "You have skill. I think there's somehow a wheel on all four available parking spaces. And you've hit the bin."

"Shut up," Alex muttered. "So is this where you'll be staying?"

William nodded.

"Do you have money or ID to pay it? You know that they'll be watching for your name to crop up at one of these places."

William smiled, "Don't worry, it's all sorted. Duroch has been good for some things. Just take this to reception will you, I'll be in room 4."

He handed her a sheet of paper and his wallet from the doorwell of the car. Alex took it and realised on her way to the reception block that it was a reservation made out to a Scott Helens. She walked through the doors and handed the man behind the desk the paper. Without looking away from the re-run of _South Park_ that was playing on the TV, the man took the paper and said.

"Twenny quid, love."

Alex raised her eyebrows a little, though he wasn't paying attention, and popped open William's wallet. At the contents, she let out an involuntary squeak.

The man glanced at her with a frown.

"Sorry… erm… stubbed my toe," Alex laughed sheepishly and handed him the money he wanted.

"Have a nice day," he said, and murmured 'weirdo' under his breath as Alex left.

As soon as she was out of sight, Alex opened the wallet again and gawped. She had never seen this much money before. At least sixty fifty-pound notes were nestled in the leather pouch, and a dozen credit cards peeking out from their pockets. Then again, William was going to need money. Alex tried not to linger on how the money got to be his in the first place.

It was just as she was closing the wallet up that she saw it. Hidden behind the credit cards, only a tinge of white paper peering out. At first Alex thought that it was just a receipt, but as she took it out, she realised that it was a photograph of a baby. A newborn baby wrapped in a light pink blanket. William's daughter? Gently, Alex slotted the photo back inside and proceeded to room 4.

The first thought that Alex had as she entered the room, was that William looked so different. While she had been at the reception, he had showered and presumably changed his bandages with the kit Duroch had left in the car for them. He must have had some more painkillers, and he had his feet up on the coffee table, leaning back in the reclining chair.

"Ah, here's the woman of the hour!" he announced jovially.

"Someone's in a better mood," Alex noted, throwing him his wallet.

"Everything okay with checking in?"

"Uh yeah, fine. I think someone might have killed Kenny though."

William cocked his head at her in confusion.

"Never mind."

William shrugged and snuggled further into the fabric of the chair, closing his eyes.

"You have _no idea _how good this feels."

Alex frowned, "Say that again."

William opened one eye, "What?"

"Say what you just said."

"Um, you have no idea how good this feels?"

"Your accent!" Alex exclaimed. "What happened to your Scottish accent?"

Suddenly, William clicked and threw his head back in laughter, "I'd completely forgotten about that! Wow… it feels so good to talk like this again."

"So you aren't from Scotland?" Alex asked, leaning forward in fascination. "That was just an alias?"

"My alias for all of 20 years," he replied with a nostalgic grin. "My name, hair colour, eye colour, everything. I became another person so that if I ever needed to disappear, I didn't have to turn into someone else, I could go back to being me."

"Whoa… so what made you choose the name William?"

William shrugged, "Sentimental value."

"So what colour are your eyes and hair naturally then?"

"Hair's just a bit darker than it is now," he ruffled his brown curls. "My eyes are blue. Had a plastic surgeon change them when I first went into the business."

"How old where you?" Alex asked. "When you… you know… went into 'the business'."

William took a breath with a ghost of a smile, "Sixteen."

"Sixteen?!" Alex exclaimed incredulously. "But that's – that's just a year older than me! What on Earth possessed you to do what you did?"

"You're rather full of questions, aren't you," William replied a little snippily, then levelled his tone apologetically. "I had a few familial issues. I got on well with some of family but… others…" William pursed his lips and looked down at his feet.

For a few moments, he seemed to lose himself. Alex watched forlornly as he delved into his past, no doubt dredging up past regrets. Wishing he had never left.

"You can get back in touch with them," Alex said quietly. "They're your family, they'll understand."

William scoffed.

"Okay, maybe not, but you could just leave out some details. They haven't seen you for twenty years, they'll just be happy to see that you're alive."

"No," William replied firmly. "I was told very forcefully that if I left, I wasn't welcome back. No matter how much I wanted to after that."

Alex, unsure of what to say to that, stayed quiet. She had never experienced anything like that before, she couldn't give advice.

William cleared his throat and took out his wallet from his jacket pocket. He took out the photo that Alex had seen and showed it to her from his chair.

"That's who you remind me of. That's why I trust you, though I probably shouldn't."

Alex leant forward and fully took in the features of the baby, not feeling now as if she was intruding. She smiled.

"Who is she?"

"My little sister. She was born when I was four, the baby of the family. She was just a little younger than you when I left. She was the one that I missed the most. I like to think that she missed me too, though I know that it's selfish."

"It isn't selfish to want to be remembered," Alex assured him. "Why don't you meet up with her? The other members of your family don't have to know. Just talk to her."

William smiled lightly, "I'd need a Ouija board."

Alex exhaled and slapped her head with the palm of her hand, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's fine, I brought the topic up."

"How did she – sorry, that's private," Alex hurriedly apologised, mentally berating herself. "Wow, I'm making a mess of this."

"It was an accident. Nothing more," William said unemotionally. "It was ten years after I left. I'd wanted to come home before that, but then… when I heard… that's when I realised what I was doing. But I couldn't stop. I'd gotten too deep. I just accepted what I was and led my life as emotionally detached as I could. Until I saw you. You reminded me of her so much. I never got to see her your age, but your voice is just the same as hers. Your hair. It was like looking at her… I couldn't watch James torture you, it would be like losing my sister all over again."

There was a moment of silence as Alex scrutinized him, seeing the pain in his eyes.

"Would you… would you have saved us if you hadn't have lost your sister?" she asked carefully, realising that it was a hard question.

William met her eyes, "Honestly... I don't know. I'd like to think that I would have done the same, but I'm not sure. Perhaps I would have helped the little girl April escape and left you, or vice versa. Or maybe I would have left you both to die."

"You wouldn't have helped Logan?"

William was silent.

"You knew," Alex concluded. She wasn't angry, she couldn't be after William had spilled his life to her. "I'm not upset, I just want to know why you didn't tell me that night."

"You needed to have a clear head, which I know is hard after torture. You had yourself and a child to keep alive. Logan didn't pose an immediate threat and I knew that telling you who Logan was would make you too emotional and more inclined to make mistakes. And you needed him," William explained. "Tell me you would be here now if it wasn't for him."

"Both April and I would probably be dead," Alex agreed. "But then again, if it wasn't for Logan feeding information back to Moriarty, we wouldn't have been there in the first place… The thing I don't understand is why he came along with us and helped us."

William raised an eyebrow at her, "It's obvious isn't it?"

Alex shook her head with a frown.

He sighed, "He wanted out. I flitted through that kid's life. I saw that he didn't want to do what he was doing anymore. I was helping all three of you that night. He loved you."

Alex shrugged, passing the words off as if they meant nothing. Three words as insignificant as 'is it raining?' As a matter of fact, it _was _raining, Alex observed, the droplets on the window casting pebble-shaped shadows on the stained carpet.

"I'd better get back. Someone will be missing me soon," Alex stood up and straightened out her cardigan, righting her hat in the cracked mirror above the cheap electric heater.

William stood too, giving her a smile as she turned back to him. She returned the smile with a little more force than she would have liked. She couldn't help but think about how nobody would ever be missing William. No one would ever look to the clock in concern while plating dinner for him. His hand on her shoulder snapped her back to him.

"Alex, I cannot thank you enough for what you've done for me today. It's the most anyone has ever done for a long time. If you ever need anything and it's in my power to help you, call me on this," he reached into the bag from the car by the side of the chair and pulled out two cheap-looking mobile phones. He handed her one. "These are connected to each other. The calls are untraceable and cannot be used by anyone other than the person who knows the password, so choose it well. You can't unlock it any other way. Ring me any time."

Alex took the phone and stashed it in her jacket pocket, "I will. I'll call you. Same with you, call me if you need anything."

"Keep it safe and out of the way of your uncles," he instructed. "They'll get suspicious."

"I know a safe place. I'll keep it with a friend," Alex promised. "She can keep a secret."

The worry-induced creases on William's forehead ironed out, "April, of course."

There was another brief stretch of quiet, and William's hand tightened on Alex's shoulder, bringing her into a fleeting one-armed half-hug. He let go quickly.

"You'd better go," he said.

Alex nodded and nudged her back of supplies that she had taken with her towards him. He bowed his head in thanks.

"Bye, William," she said and crossed the room to the door. But just as she was about to leave, she turned to him. "Are you ever going to tell me your real name?"

He just smirked mysteriously.

"I trust you know the number for a cab."

* * *

><p>After half an hour of the cabbie moaning and groaning about having to travel on the motorway instead of the city centre (which Alex couldn't see the problem with), it was a relief to finally climb out at Piccadilly Circus, even if she forgot her hat in the back of the taxi. She fancied a walk before facing anyone, just to work through the events of the day. She couldn't believe that it had happened, to be honest. It already seemed like something that took place months ago, though it was barely an hour.<p>

Alex was sat on a bench outside a café when she took out her phone and made to call Mycroft. A talk was long overdue and being with William had reminded her of how precious family ties were. She wouldn't tell him about William, that secret was hers alone, but maybe a few slips of Joseph Bainbridge's name to gauge her uncle's reaction.

However, just as she was about to press the call button, a sleek black car rolled up in front of her. Alex snorted a little at the coincidence and pocketed her phone.

Anthea opened the door before Alex could and allowed the younger girl to enter, then sat opposite her, shutting the door. The car began to move again.

"That's so weird, I was just about to –" Alex stopped, taking in Anthea's lack of Blackberry and smile-less face. "What's wrong?"

"You're in trouble," she said, her tone suggesting that whatever it was, it wasn't good. And Anthea was the fun one. "Big."

Dread immediately seized Alex's heart, causing a sharp pang to radiate through her body. William. They knew. How could they know?

"Wh-what do you mean?" Alex stuttered.

"Your uncle found a note in your coat that you left. You know what this is about, Alex, don't play innocent. After everything with Sherlock, I can't believe you!" Anthea almost yelled.

Anthea never raised her voice, not once around Alex.

"What are you talking about with Sherlock?" Alex frowned, genuinely confused now.

Anthea looked at her disappointedly, "Well you can ask him. Sherlock, John and Mycroft are waiting for you at the house. I'll warn you now, two out of the three are furious."

"Anthea, please! Look, whatever you think I've done, I haven't –"

"Just be quiet, Alex!" Anthea yelled. Properly yelled. "Can you wait just a few more minutes until we get back before giving your excuses?"

Alex fell back into her seat in shock. What on Earth did they –

The thought was crushed as they pulled up outside 221B, a worried-looking Mrs Hudson stood on the doorstep.

_I guess I'm about to find out._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Ohhh, Alex is in trouble. Anyone guess what it could be about?<strong>

**The next chapter of Little Innocent (the prequel) will be out shortly.**

**HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, 3broomstix, armstrongjess, Crossing the Galaxy 22, OnceUponADeduction, AnotherDamnMexican, Loyal Elf, Guest, and hedgieluvr for reviewing!**

**Replies will be sent to you in the next few minutes :)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	87. The Help - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello :) I think I'm on time with this one! Probably should be revising for my Nazi Germany exam but I'll wing it. I don't post for another month, know that I've been lynched by my history teacher.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Just be quiet, Alex!" Anthea yelled. Properly yelled. "Can you wait just a few more minutes until we get back before giving your excuses?"_

_Alex fell back into her seat in shock. What on Earth did they –_

_The thought was crushed as they pulled up outside 221B, a worried-looking Mrs Hudson stood on the doorstep._

"Ooh, Alex. They're awfully upset," was the first thing Alex heard upon exiting the car. Mrs Hudson put one hand to her mouth and the other hand on Alex's shoulder. "Tell me what they're saying isn't true."

"I don't know what they're saying, Mrs Hudson," Alex replied, glancing up to the living room window. The curtain twitched.

"You'd better go on up, Alex," Anthea said before Mrs Hudson could respond. "I don't expect I'll be seeing you later."

"Jesus Anthea, whatever I've done, they aren't going to kill me!"

The woman just shook her head and indicated to the door, "Don't keep them waiting any longer."

Alex looked between the two helplessly, took a deep breath, and walked through into the hall. From the stairs, she could hear the low mumble of voices. She only managed to make out what they were saying when she was just outside the living room door, and even then they were muffled.

"I don't believe that she would—"

"—explore the possibility—"

"—she's supposed to be intelligent—"

Slowly, Alex opened the door just a little, hoping no one would notice and she would be able to garner some more information… but they noticed. The door was suddenly wrenched open roughly, causing Alex to stumble slightly into the room. Mycroft glowered at her from where he was stood holding the other side of the door. Sherlock wore the same glare. John just looked disappointed.

"What's happening? Anthea won't tell me anything," Alex said, casting the adults in the room a lingering look.

"Alex, playing ignorant really isn't going to help you right now," John said quietly.

"I'm not playing anything, I honestly don't know what you are talking about."

"Well let me jog your memory," Mycroft snapped from behind, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket and reading out the contents, "'You've done this. You've got to help me. They're after me next. You can help me. And you can help him like he helped you. You owe him that. 4 o'clock tomorrow morning where you first saw me'. Does that mean anything to you? Hmm?"

Alex closed her eyes briefly, muttering, "Where did you get that?"

"From your coat pocket. So who sent you this? Why didn't you tell us about it?"

"It was… it was – it was a man," Alex struggled for the words. She couldn't incriminate herself further. She couldn't reveal her and William's secret. She settled for a half-truth. "When we first went to Irene Adler's flat, a man came up to me and pulled me into an alley. Said he knew me and blamed me for something. I looked him up at the Yard and pulled nothing. I just forgot about him! I got that and assumed it was from him…"

"And did you go to him like he asked?" Mycroft asked angrily.

"No!" Alex defended instantly. "No way!"

"Forgive me if I'm finding rather hard to believe you right now," Mycroft said coldly.

"I swear! I was here all night! Sherlock," Alex looked to her other uncle with pleading eyes. "You were with me, you stayed in my room."

Sherlock's mouth remained shut. He seemed to be zoned out of the conversation, but his eyes were awake, trained on Alex's.

"He fell asleep," Mycroft answered for him.

"Well… then… John! You saw me!"

"That was the next morning. You would have had plenty of time to be there and back before any of us realised," John pointed out, though looking like he wished he'd never spoken. Surely he believed her.

Alex, swallowing the anger threatening to rear its ugly head, bit the inside of her mouth.

"Listen to me, I did not go to see whoever this man is. And if you think that I'm stupid enough to do that, it just shows how little you actually know me," she said.

It was ironic that she was saying this, when she had done so much worse than just meet up with Duroch.

She thought she had won them over with that statement, but Mycroft maintained his furious composure, and Sherlock still looked distant.

"For God's sake! Check the cameras around here! You'll see that I didn't move from this house!"

"The cameras malfunctioned."

William and his connections, Alex groaned in her head. He seemed to be doing more harm than good.

"Well then I can't prove anything then can I. Look, I'm going to my room, I'm sick of being accused of things I haven't done–"

Mycroft grasped her arm as she tried to walk past and pulled her back into the room. She gave him an affronted look.

"What? It seems like we're at a bit of standstill here. I know I haven't done anything so I might as well just go upstairs," _Liar!_

"That isn't it, Alex," John said, nudging Sherlock with his shoulder.

When Sherlock didn't speak, Mycroft spoke for him again.

"Do you know a Mr Garrett Hardy?"

Alex racked her brain. "Uh, yeah. He's part of Sherlock's homeless network. Why?"

"He saw you."

Alex tried her hardest to keep her voice even and gaze steady on her uncle, "When?"

"Today," _No! No! No!_ "You were down Stunden Street. In a drug den."

"No I wasn't."

"Don't lie to me, Alex," Mycroft warned.

"I'm not! I-I wasn't there! Why would I go down there?" panic threatened to show in her voice, but she buried it.

Mycroft shook the letter in front of her face, "Because someone told you to!"

"No one told me to do anything!"

"Oh, so you went of your own volition?" Mycroft asked, voice raising. "You know what kind of business goes on down there. You of all people should know what places like that do to people!"

Alex frowned, "What do you mean…?" she trailed off, looking to Sherlock. He was paler than usual. "…That's where you used to go…"

Sherlock didn't answer, but he took a step towards her.

"And you think…" Alex said slowly, putting the pieces together. "You think I've been there for the same reasons you used to."

Sherlock's lips tightened. Alex's mouth fell open in shock.

"You think I'm using?" she looked around the inhabitants of the room is disbelief. "That's what this is about? You think I'm taking drugs?"

"Why else would you be there Alex?" John asked. "That place is notorious for drugs. No one goes there unless they're looking for a dealer."

"I can't believe you think I'd do that," Alex shook her head.

Mycroft spoke again, "You have been irritable lately, lethargic, eyes bloodshot. Not yourself."

Anger began to flare in Alex's mind, "Yes, of course I've been irritable! In case you have forgotten, this past year hasn't been a leisurely stroll for me. Or the one before that. Oh wait, or the one after that. And now my own family are accusing me of being an addict. Thanks, that really helps the situation."

"Then prove that you aren't," Sherlock said, taking another steps closer.

"How?" Alex asked exasperatedly.

"Show me your arms," he ordered.

Alex's eyebrows knitted together in hurt, "You really don't believe me?"

"Show me your arms," he repeated.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Alex rolled up her sleeves to her elbow and held out her arms. Sherlock gently took hold of the left, running his fingers over the pale skin on the underside of her arm, closely examining the veins in her wrist. She saw him smile for just a second as he let go of the left and took the right, repeating the action. He let her arms fall.

"Tilt your head back."

She did. He carefully held the side of her face and stared into her eyes, no doubt seeing if her pupils were larger than usual. She shivered a little as his cold hand slipped to her neck and rested on her pulse, lingering there for a moment. Then he let go.

"Satisfied?" Alex asked softly.

"Go up to your room. I'll talk to you later," Sherlock replied equally as softly.

Alex nodded, suddenly feeling like a little girl again. She could almost feel the fluffy purple dressing gown she used to always wear around her, and the walls of 221B suddenly felt so much more like her old house.

She didn't look at Mycroft as he held the door open for her to walk through, nor did she John. She did as Sherlock had told her and went up the stairs to her bedroom. She couldn't believe it. They had thought… that's what Anthea had meant by 'after everything with Sherlock'. They had thought that she was following in his footsteps.

Alex perched herself on the edge of her bed, taking off her bag and retrieving the phone that William had given her from her pocket. She was lucky they hadn't asked her to turn out the contents of her bag and pockets. Apparently they assumed that was too clever to bring back any tangible evidence. Obviously they though that she wasn't clever enough to stay away from drugs in the first place.

The phone had a message on it. She opened it up.

**Everything okay? No trouble from anyone? – W**

Alex took a moment to think before replying: **No, no trouble. No one realised I had gone - AH**

**Good. I'm spending the night here and moving on. I like the sound of Slovakia – W**

**Stay safe – AH**

**You too – W**

Alex stored the phone in her underwear drawer, knowing that it would be a place that not one of her nosy guardians would dare open. She then fell back onto her bed, exhausted. The day had been so long, so tiring. She allowed her eyes to close, but she couldn't sleep. The conversation wasn't over, and Sherlock had said that he would talk to her.

It was another half an hour before Alex heard Mycroft's car start back up and drive away. Sherlock's knock on her door was immediately after. That in itself was strange. Sherlock never knocked. He always just barged in unannounced.

"Come in," Alex called.

The door open somewhat hesitantly, and when Sherlock walked in, he looked nervous. Alex sat up and patted the spot next to her on the bed. He took the hint and sat next to her.

"Haven't we already covered everything?" Alex asked.

Sherlock exhaled, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, "Alex… I was going to wait until you were older to tell you this, but you're already so old now for your age."

"Everyone says that," Alex mumbled.

"Because it's true. And that's partly my fault. You shouldn't have seen half of the things you have that have made you grow up too fast."

"It isn't your fault. You can't help it."

Sherlock looked down, lips pressed together into a thin line.

"When I got that call today from Hardy, about where you were, I just couldn't comprehend the fact that you would go there. You've always been smart and you know every part of London – you've grown up here – so you didn't go there by accident. I didn't when I used to go. I knew exactly what I wanted from that place, and to think of you down there… I didn't understand where I had gone wrong. I'm supposed to make sure that you're not in danger," Sherlock said, choosing his words deliberately and carefully. "That's what made me jump to conclusions and call Mycroft and when he found that note… We both just overreacted. We shouldn't have accused you like that."

Alex shrugged, body language casual, but her insides were burning with shame. How could she say anything to that? Why had she thought that she could lie to him in the first place?

"But," he continued, and looked up directly into her eyes. "I want you to know that you can tell me anything. Whatever trouble you are in or whatever you have done, I promise not to be angry or do anything you don't want me to. Believe me, whatever you have done, I have done worse. I know how hard it is to approach Mycroft about things, being how he is. Just know that you never need to feel like you're on your own with anything."

The shame was building and building, but there was something else. A curiosity.

"Why–" Alex coughed as her voice broke. "Why are you telling me this? I know that I can come to you with anything. Why do you feel the need to tell me like this?"

"Because I wish that I had told your mother that. If I had, she might still be here."

"Don't say that," Alex said firmly, though her eyes were misting. "You can't blame yourself for what she did. God knows I have almost for the past decade and it just makes you miserable."

"Okay, let's negotiate," Sherlock proposed. "I'll stop blaming myself if you stop blame blaming yourself."

Alex smiled softly, "Deal."

Mirroring her smile, Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed as he stood up. He was halfway across the room when Alex called him back.

"Sherlock!" he turned and raised an eyebrow calmly. "I… I was at Stunden Street today."

Alex bit her lip as he opened his mouth to respond, expecting an angry tirade –

"I know."

She frowned, "How?"

"You're a terrible liar. Maybe not to others but I know your nervous ticks too well."

"So you aren't mad?" Alex asked warily.

Sherlock sighed, "Did you take anything?"

"No."

"Have you got anything here?"

"No."

"Do you plan to go back?"

"Definitely not."

The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched, "Then I don't see why we can't keep it as our little secret, do you?"

"Thank you," Alex said sincerely.

"No problem. Good night Alex."

"'Night Sherlock."

He nodded and walked to the door, turning to say, "Remember, anything at all. Don't keep secrets from me."

Alex licked her lips. Did she tell him about William? Would she risk it? But Sherlock was already gone.

Fighting now to stay awake, Alex picked up her own personal mobile phone and sent a quick text to Mycroft. If Sherlock felt that way, what if Mycroft did too? Life was too short to bear grudges against people, especially family.

**I'm sorry if I worried you. I really didn't mean to. I don't think we get along as well as we used to and I miss how we used to be. Could I stay at yours tomorrow night? We don't have to do anything or get the cook to make something special. Just a takeaway maybe? We could watch a film? It doesn't matter if you're busy though. I get that it's short notice. Let me know soon. – AH x**

There was no reply for a few minutes until the phone buzzed.

**I'm not busy. See you then. – MH**

Alex grinned tiredly and placed the phone on her bedside table, sliding under the covers.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Loyal Elf, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Book Pond, hedgieluvr, emilybrock101, armstrongjess, rycbar15, and AzureTheVampire for reviewing :)<strong>

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	88. The Help - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I'm sooo sorry! I know it's been a few weeks since my last update but I've been really ill again and haven't been able to look at my computer screen until a few days ago. I keep going back and forth to the hospital for tests and hopefully soon I'll find out what's wrong. I'm feeling better at the moment though, so the first thing I've done is write this chapter! It's been killing me knowing that I'm keeping you waiting but please know that it isn't by choice. I would write this all day long if I could, believe me.**

**Thanks so much for staying with me, I love all of you!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

**_I'm sorry if I worried you. I really didn't mean to. I don't think we get along as well as we used to and I miss how we used to be. Could I stay at yours tomorrow night? We don't have to do anything or get the cook to make something special. Just a takeaway maybe? We could watch a film? It doesn't matter if you're busy though. I get that it's short notice. Let me know soon. – AH x_**

_There was no reply for a few minutes until the phone buzzed. _

**_I'm not busy. See you then. – MH _**

_Alex grinned tiredly and placed the phone on her bedside table, sliding under the covers. _

Again, that night, Alex only managed to get a few hours of sleep before being awoken by a nightmare. It was annoying though, as as soon as she calmed herself down and laid back on her bed, she had completely forgotten what it was about. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Perhaps relieved so it wouldn't be continuing to haunt her? Or irritated as she tried to rummage through her brain for details? Either way, she couldn't go back to sleep.

The kitchen was the first port of call, closely followed by the living room. Alex fell back onto the John's armchair and curled her legs beneath her, resting a mug of tea on her knee. Sherlock didn't glance up once from his violin. He just continued to pluck away.

"When you were younger, I wanted you to learn the violin," he said distantly.

"Then you realised that I possessed no musical talent whatsoever," Alex joked back.

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement. "I've never met a person so void of musical inclination."

Alex shrugged, "I like listening to music, I just don't have the ability to produce it."

"You would have it if you could sit still for more than five minutes when you were a child."

"I guess I could try to learn to play the piano… that seems easier than the violin. Then again, I don't have the patience," Alex admitted.

"Yes, you'd make a terrible sniper. You're more of a gun-to-the-head-into-an-alley sort of person."

"It's effective."

The two lapsed into silence for a few moments, in which Alex felt completely relaxed. The soft thrums of music drifting from Sherlock's direction were making her eyes feel heavy again. Then it stopped. She looked up with a slight frown.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock sighed and put his violin down by the side of his chair, proceeding then to run his hand through his curls.

"Sherlock?"

"I need a case."

Alex frowned, "You seemed okay just a second ago."

"_Now _I'm bordering okay. But what about tomorrow? Or the next day?" a look of horror passed over his face. "What if there isn't a murder until next week?"

"Y'know, most people would be happy about that."

"You of all people should know that I don't fit into the category of 'most people', Alex."

"Maybe there's something on John's blog? Or your website?" Alex suggested.

Sherlock grumbled, "Only the thrilling case of Bluebell the missing rabbit."

Alex stifled a laugh, "The game is on."

Sherlock pretended not to hear her comment.

"What are you doing today anyway? Don't you have plans with your _least_ favourite uncle?" he asked with a smirk.

Alex sighed long-sufferingly, "I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of correcting you on that, you'll only deny my sincerity. If by what you said, you meant if I was going to Mycroft's, the answer is yes. I'm meant to be going later tonight but I might go now. Might as well spend the day there. And I won't have to deal with you in your throes of boredom," she added. "I'll leave that pleasure to John."

"John is visiting his new girlfriend, I believe."

"Hmm," Alex's face twisted in concern. "Maybe I shouldn't go then…"

"Why?" Sherlock frowned.

"Because that means you'll resort to playing Cluedo with Mrs Hudson and I wouldn't subject her to that if I could help it."

Sherlock scowled, "Ha-ha, very funny. Hilarious."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Sherlock," Alex clucked condescendingly.

"Go on, get out."

A flying cushion cut off Alex's reply.

Among many other things, one of the great perks of living in London was the fact that transport was never a problem. There was never a shortage of cabs or buses, which was handy considering that Sherlock detested driving anywhere. Driving in the city required more patience than Sherlock possessed.

It had become a secret hope of a young Alex that she would soon get to know every cabbie in London by name, but with age that hope had dwindled and given way to reality. But this time, as she flagged one down, she didn't even get to see his face, just his voice.

"Is wherever you wanna go near the centre?" he asked, having to shout over the sound of the rain on the roof of the car.

"No, I–"

"Can't help ya. I'm off duty as of five minutes ago. Just headin' back. Better luck next time."

He didn't give her chance to respond, winding up the window and driving away almost mid-sentence.

"Great, thanks," Alex said sarcastically. "I'll have to walk then. Maybe I'll find someone with manners."

But, as she carried on walking through the streets, no one stopped for her. Either they were full, or the cabbies were heading back to the station for the handing over of the shifts. Even Anthea's phone kept going to voicemail. The rain got heavier and heavier, and by the time Alex finally managed to catch a bus the rest of the way to Mycroft's, she was soaking wet.

The first thing she did was retreat to her bedroom there, and change into pyjamas that had been specially laundered for her stay tonight. Mycroft's way of being thoughtful. They were her oldest and most comfortable pair, accompanied by new fluffy slippers and a dressing gown. Alex regarded them with a knowing look before changing into them. Did this look like an apology? She thought so. Pulling her dripping hair out of her ponytail, she proceeded to her uncle's office.

She was about to knock when she heard the phone ring from inside. She paused.

Mycroft's voice sounded, "No… no, I've said… I'm rather busy today… She'll just have to manage on her own… Well… Well tell her Majesty that I will ring her first thing in the morning but for now I have a day off… yes, _a day off. _Goodbye, Mr Enfield."

Alex heard her uncle sigh, and at the little bleep as the phone was replaced in its cradle, she knocked. The door was open ajar. She gave it a little push.

Mycroft turned to her.

"It's fine if you're busy, you know," Alex said hurriedly, before he could speak. "Don't feel like you have to cancel plans on my account. I'm sure the Queen isn't accustomed to people bailing on her."

"Nonsense," Mycroft replied. "Britain will just have to cope on her own for a few hours. Come and sit down."

Alex smiled somewhat hesitantly and took her appointed seat opposite her uncle in front of the fireplace, where a small fire was smouldering. She sank back into the cushions and enjoyed the feeling of warmth on her cheeks.

"So… what are we planning on doing today?" Alex asked.

"Like you said, it was time we spent some time together. After yesterdays… misunderstanding, that might just be in order. I hope you don't mind if Anthea joins us?"

"No, no, of course not. Anthea's great."

Mycroft smiled a little conspiratorially, which set Alex on edge.

"Mycroft, what have you done?" Alex demanded, an awful feeling curdling in her stomach.

"Well, you know it's a very special occasion soon…"

_Uh-oh._

"No," Alex shook her head vehemently. "No. Please tell me you didn't."

Mycroft didn't have time to reply.

"Alex!" a bubbly, female voice shouted. "Finally you're here! Right, I have _everything _we could need to plan the perfect birthday. It's only two weeks from now and we need to do so much. When your uncle reminded me, I could have slapped myself! I hope you've got an idea of what you want."

Anthea pulled a dining chair over in between Mycroft and Alex, setting down a _huge _file and opening her laptop on her knee. It seemed the events of yesterday had been forgotten. That was how they worked, move on and don't speak of it again.

Alex sent a covert glare in Mycroft's direction before speaking carefully to Anthea, "Actually Anthea, I was just thinking that maybe we could just… do something… quiet."

The beautiful assistant looked like Alex had just announced that her house had burnt down.

"Quiet? Quiet?! Alex, it's your _sixteenth _birthday! You can't just fob this one off! It's your Sweet Sixteen! I mean, last year you didn't do anything at all!" Anthea explained.

"Yeah, because last year I was being held at gunpoint by my lunatic father," Alex deadpanned.

Anthea replied in a 'duh' kind of voice, "But you aren't _this _year. This year is the year of the party."

"What's wrong with just a low key meal somewhere?" Alex sighed.

Anthea mirrored her sigh, "What is with you Holmeses and your aversion to having fun!"

"I do not have an aversion to–"

"Here are some possible venues," Anthea interrupted, dropping the file onto Alex's knee.

Flustered, Alex opened the file. Her eyes widened.

"Anthea this place is huge!" she read closer. "This accommodates seven hundred people."

"Sounds perfect, yeah? There are other bigger ones on the next few pages," Anthea informed her distractedly as she hammered away at the keys on her laptop.

Alex sent a 'help me' look to Mycroft, who in turn, shrugged and folded his arms with a look of amusement on his face.

"How many people are thinking of inviting?" Anthea asked. "A few hundred? We'll need to make sure there's enough room for their plus-ones as well."

"I think you're forgetting the fact that I have no friends," Alex said. "And plus-ones? It isn't a wedding!"

"It doesn't matter if they aren't your friends, put on some food and good entertainment and people will flock. Speaking of entertainment, which bands do you like?"

"Anthea–"

"Because I thought we could fly them in–"

"Anthea! Look…" Alex closed the stuffed file. "I really don't want a big fuss or anything. I'm not exactly overjoyed that it's going to my birthday soon."

Anthea regarded her for a moment, and Alex could sense Mycroft frowning at her as well.

"Oh," Anthea dragged out, recognition on her face. "I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yup. You're going to be legal soon and you don't have a boyfriend."

"Anthea!"

Alex kept her gaze firmly fixed on the smirking woman's face, and as far away as possible from Mycroft's.

"What? It's true," Anthea defended.

"Don't try this again," Alex shook her head with a hint of amusement. "You know what happened last time. Stop winding _him_ up and embarrassing _me_."

Anthea laughed, "Alright, I'll stop. You really don't want a party?"

Alex shook her head apologetically.

Anthea sighed, "Okay. No party. I _am _going to reserve a large table at the most expensive and highly commended restaurants that I can find, though."

"You don't–"

"Ah-ah," Anthea cut her off. "That's out of your control unfortunately. Now, I need to go and do some researching."

She stood up, gathered her planning equipment, and was gone.

Alex groaned and covered her face with her hands.

"I'm afraid I think that it the best you are going to get from her," Mycroft said.

"She's insane," Alex agreed. "Still, whatever she plans can't be worse than last year, right?"

Mycroft didn't look amused.

"What? Too soon?" Alex quipped wearily. "It has been nearly a year. A year next week."

"It's because of _him_, isn't it?" Mycroft suddenly said. "Why you don't want to think about your birthday. Why?"

Alex grimaced and looked down into the flames in the hearth, making her skin glow a dark magenta, eyes flickering with every movement of the fire.

"It doesn't matter what it is," she said, eyes glued on the fire. "It could be a birthday or Christmas… He always does something. Something to make sure that I remember him. Not that there's any chance that I could forget. I just – I mean, what's he planning next? We haven't heard from him for so long; it's like he's planning something and… I just have to wait and wonder."

"You shouldn't be scared of him, Alex," Mycroft told her, almost gently. "You know we wouldn't let anything happen to you after the events of last year."

"I'm not scared for me. I'm scared for you," Alex finally looked up at him. "And I'm scared for Sherlock, and John, and Mrs Hudson, and Molly, and Lestrade, and Anthea, and–" she took a breath to calm herself. "If anything happen to any of them, to you, I would never get over it. I would never recover."

"What makes you think that you're responsible for us?" Mycroft asked curiously. "We are fully grown adults and can make our own decisions. Until you're 18, _we_ are responsible for _you. _I suppose even after that Sherlock and I will still be responsible, but my point is that you, no matter how old or whatever your connections to Moriarty, whatever he does, you bear no blame _whatsoever. _Do you understand?"

Alex fiddled with her sleeve, muttering something non-committal.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, "Was that a 'yes Uncle Mycroft, I do understand'?"

Alex couldn't help but smile at his imitation, "Yeah, exactly that."

"Good."

"You know, you're not that bad."

"As an uncle or just in general life?"

Alex stood up and took the few steps over to him, "Definitely as an uncle. As a human being, you're insufferable."

The last word was slightly muffled as she sat down beside Mycroft's leg, back resting against the armchair and head on her uncle's knee.

"Just remember who has the power to tell Anthea to book that seven-hundred-person hall for your birthday," he warned, tapping the back of her head lightly.

"Point taken," Alex said with a smile, and closed her eyes.

The rest of the day and night went surprisingly exactly according to plan and actually turned out to be really nice. Alex just hoped that her birthday would be as good. Something told her that it wouldn't.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, OnceUponADeduction, kksambo, rycbar15, AzureTheVampire, armstrongjessi, Addie Holmes, DeffoNotEmmy, and O.O for reviewing!<strong>

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**Little Innocent has a new chapter up as of an hour ago, check it out! It's a cute counterpart to the story and there are some subtle hint dropping and for those who have read all of Exception will be able to pick out parts on the timeline and learn about May's life.**

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	89. Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! An update on time! If you haven't figured out, I usually update on Sundays (Saturday night/Monday morning depending on where you live) so I'm trying to stick with that. I won't have internet or a car for two weeks, but I'll lug my laptop down to the good old internet cafe so I can still upload. But if something does come up and I can't get down next Sunday, know that I will definitely update on Monday or earlier if I know that I won't be able to make it on Sunday.**

**Either way, you'll get chapters!**

**Also, 300,00 words + now!**

**Anyway, onto Alex's birthday party - sorry, ****_meal._**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><em>Previously:<em>

_"Just remember who has the power to tell Anthea to book that seven-hundred-person hall for your birthday," he warned, tapping the back of her head lightly._

_"Point taken," Alex said with a smile, and closed her eyes._

_Yes, surprisingly, it had been a good day. Alex just hoped that her birthday would be as good. Something told her that it wouldn't._

It was today. The day she had been dreading. The big 1 – 6. Sweet Sixteen. Thankfully she had managed to convince Anthea that a quiet meal would suffice, and _not _the grand event that the woman had been planning. But, true to her word, Anthea had once again out-done herself and booked a high-end, posh restaurant on the outskirts of the city. Which meant, among acting more civil than usual, that she had to wear something 'appropriate'. More specifically, a dress.

Alex didn't have a loathing of dresses, she just found them highly impractical, especially when trying to catch up with Sherlock, who in turn was trying to catch up with a serial killer. That's how most formal evenings ended up. This time, however, Sherlock had been told forcefully by the party planner of the century (Anthea) that such activities were banned for the night.

She had been given her presents earlier in the day and was wholly surprised to find that there was nothing from a certain someone. Thankfully. But the day still wasn't over, there was still time.

Alex fiddled with the hem of her dress and inspected herself with an unsure grimace in the mirror. The dress was dark blue with a black leather belt around the waist (and an inside pocket at Alex's request, garnering her a strange look from Anthea). It went down to her knees and had a very modest neckline. Nothing spectacular, which was perfect. The feat that she was most proud of though, was her hair. She had actually managed to wrestle it into a bun instead of having it down like she usually did. Granted, it was a very slapdash, strangely shaped bun, but a bun nonetheless.

The heels proved to be a step to far. Pun intended. Alex quickly swapped them for some flats.

Finally, she was ready, and walked down to meet the others in the living room.

John was in a suit (a strange sight), as was Sherlock, as usual.

"You look nice," John complimented.

She smiled, "So do you. Well, we might as well get this over with as soon as possible."

"Try to seem just a little bit happy about this," Sherlock said as they descended the stairs. "You're going to your birthday party, not your execution."

"_Meal," _Alex corrected. "Birthday _meal. _Don't say the 'p' word."

Sherlock shook his head at her as John hailed a cab.

* * *

><p>The cab ride was uneventful, mostly filled with guessing who would be sat next to who – Alex earning herself a kick in the shin for insisting that Sherlock and Mycroft would be sat next to each other for the entire thing.<p>

And, Alex got a chance to try out her new smartphone when the young cabbie got lost.

"I'm really sorry," the boy apologised as they climbed out of the taxi. "I hope I didn't make you late for your party."

Alex gave him a forced smile, "No, don't worry about it," as soon as he had driven away, she lowered her voice and added insistently, "_Meal. _Not party, _meal."_

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, "You'd better come in and face the firing squad then."

Anthea, having been stripped from her extravagant ideas, had compensated by hiring out the entire restaurant so that they were the only ones there apart from the waiter and the chef. Everyone else was already seated, and Alex, Sherlock, and John's seats were clearly highlighted as they were the only ones vacant.

Alex sat between Sherlock and Molly, whilst John sat next to Lestrade. Mycroft was conveniently sat on the end, with Anthea by his side. Sitting anywhere else would mean that he would have to actually socialise. That was out of the question.

Molly and Alex mostly talked, laughing at the dashing waiter who seemed to be giving Molly rather flirtatious glances from behind the bar. Just for that, they ordered double the amount of drinks of everyone else. It was easier for Alex, who was just drinking water, but soon Molly was a little merry, despite her protestations at first – she even managed to bash her leg on a sharp piece of wood on the underside of the table top.

"Shh," Alex hushed, barely concealing her laughter as Molly groaned and chugged another glass. "These next few are going to have to be just water or I'm going to have to carry you home."

"Deal," Molly agreed, and called the waiter – Derek – over again.

It didn't help that the drinks tasted too sweet. But Anthea had been watching everyone's reaction like a hawk to make sure everything was perfect, and so everyone kept quiet.

The starter was an array of tiny canapé-style dishes that were gone in one bite.

"I haven't eaten anything all day," Alex whispered to Molly. "I'm starving and these little nibbles aren't doing anything for me."

"Same. Take a sip of this, does it taste weird to you?"

Alex took the glass of wine and took a sip, "Yeah, but don't say anything or Anthea will take the manager to court."

The two snorted between themselves and continued to talk with the rest of the table. However, soon Alex's vision went a little bit fuzzy. Perhaps she had drunk a little bit too much of that wine. But it had only been a sip…

"Molls," Alex slurred quietly.

"Hmm?" she mumbled back.

"M'tired."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… just gonna close my eyes," Alex rested her cheek on Molly's shoulder. "Two… minutes."

But Molly didn't hear. Her cheek slipped onto the top of Alex's hair as her eyelids fluttered shut. For a moment, Alex thought that Sherlock was going to shake her and tell her to behave, but she needn't have worried.

He was unconscious as well.

Before she had chance to process this, Alex lost her grip on reality and slipped into sleep, barely being able to see the waiter cock his head at her interestedly and begin to walk over.

* * *

><p><em>Stop… shut up, idiot... Get it back... Deal with it... Don't kill her… Jesus, look at her leg...There isn't time… Just throw them in… I don't know… I hope not… what...?<em>

_He's here._

* * *

><p>Sherlock was the first to wake. He squinted, head flaring in pain at the intensity of the light. He felt extremely sluggish. Had he been drinking? Was this one of the worst hangovers in history? He frowned. He couldn't remember getting drunk. In fact, he couldn't remember even getting home.<p>

His eyes adjusted just as the others began to rouse. Something moved on his shoulder, causing him to recoil and jerk away.

"Wutyudoin?" Lestrade groaned as his head slipped down onto his hand, having been resting on Sherlock.

"Get off," Sherlock grunted and rubbed his eyes to focus himself.

"Is everyone okay?" Mycroft's voice asked a little huskily.

"I'm alright," Anthea spoke up, albeit weakly.

"Still breathing," John added.

"Same," Sherlock nudged Alex, the other hand still rubbing his eyes. "You two okay?"

She didn't reply. Neither did Molly.

"Sherlock."

It was Mycroft's voice. It was emotional. Heavy. He sounded like he was in shock. That forced Sherlock to open his eyes and frown at his brother. He was looking at Alex. Sherlock turned to see what was wrong.

But Alex wasn't there.

In her place was a man, his face obscured by the bowl in which his head had fallen into. He was dressed in a black suit, with a large gaping hole in the shoulder. Tissue and bone peered out through the incision. Gunshot wound.

Next to that man, in Molly's seat, was another, younger man. He too was laid face down on the table with a bullet wound in his back.

"Alex?" Sherlock called, looking up and down the table. "Molly! Alex!"

"Sherlock," John said, eyes glued on the platter in the middle of the table. "Look."

The chicken off the plate was gone, only the meatless carcass was left. Hidden inside the ribcage was a letter. Addressed to – the Doctor, the Detective, the Assistant, and the Brothers-in-Law.

Already feeling like someone had just stabbed him in the stomach, Sherlock reached out and untangled the letter from the wiry chicken bones.

_Hello!_

_Long time no see! How are you all? Apart from Alex and Molls, I know how they are. A bit sleepy, but they'll come round. Both are much more amicable company when they're unconscious, you know. But I don't suppose spending time with two corpses is very enjoyable. So let me lay down the rules. I have your niece and your pathologist in a safe place. You have forty-eight hours to find out where that safe place is, before it becomes, well, not-so-safe._

_Oh, and enjoy your new stiffs. They are the only clues you are going to get._

_Time's ticking._

_Love,_

_A concerned parent._

_X_

His mouth went dry. Knees weak. Not again. No. Impossible.

Sherlock allowed the paper to be ripped out of his hand by Mycroft, who read it with a blank expression. The pursing of his lips was the only animation on his face. He threw the letter down onto the table, where it was snatched up by the other residents and read.

Sherlock meanwhile grabbed the back of the first dead man's collar and hoisted him up into a sitting position. His lips were a pale blue, along with his fingers – on one of which he bore a wedding ring, Sherlock noticed. He had been dead for at least two days.

Lestrade was on his phone, no doubt calling his team in. He hung up, uttering a hurried thank you and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked.

Sherlock swallowed and looked up at him, "Y-yes."

"What do we do now?"

Sherlock glanced at the letter, then back to the bodies, taking a breath, "We do want he wants. We figure out what clues lie with these people and get Alex and Molly back."

Lestrade nodded, "My team's on the way over. I've told them to behave. What are you going to do?"

"I need to see their files. I want to know everything about them."

"Go over to the Yard, you'll have access to anything you need."

"Thank you. John, with me. Mycroft–"

"I'll get everyone I can on board," Mycroft finished for him, standing up. "Someone had to have seen something."

"Call me if you find anything," Sherlock said as they left the restaurant.

"Likewise," Mycroft stopped as he was about to get into his car and looked up at Sherlock.

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, and Sherlock knew that it was in his as well. But now wasn't the time to get emotional. They knew that.

"Sherlock," Mycroft began. "This isn't one of your cases. This is Alex. _Our _Alex… Find her."

Unable to speak, Sherlock just nodded as Mycroft left. His brother's words resonated in his head.

_Our Alex._

_Find her._

He couldn't believe it had happened again. After everything, he still couldn't protect her. Moriarty was always one step ahead.

_Find her._

* * *

><p>Alex was laid on something hard. It was coarse under her cheek, irritating her skin. Her eyelids gradually opened, though the darkness they provided was preferred. She made the mistake of then turning her head, which set off a round of fireworks that collided and exploded in her skull, causing white blotches to dance in front of her.<p>

She moaned and screwed her eyes closed again, keeping her head very still. A few moments passed, and so eventually did the pain. She dared to open her eyes again. She realised that she was laid on her back, looking straight up… to grass? No, that couldn't be right. Grass was on the ground, right? Surely she should be seeing the sky?

It was a worryingly long time before Alex figured out that it was a ceiling she was looking at, infested with mould and damp. Where was she?

A knot beginning to form in her stomach, Alex forced herself to sit up. It was then that she realised where she was. She was in a caravan. It was small, about the size of the kitchen in 221B. The furniture was old and torn, everything covered in a thick layer of grime. It was dark, the curtains closed and only a little flicker of light poking out through the gap.

How had she gotten here?

Alex let her eyes stray around the room, and her vision steadily improved. And the mound on the floor that Alex had presumed was a pile of cushions, transformed into an unconscious Molly.

"Molly," Alex rasped, rolling onto her stomach and crawling over to her.

She lunged for her wrist and let out a breath of relief as she found a pulse.

"Molly, come on. Come on, wake up. You need to wake up," Alex pleaded.

At the sound of her name, Molly began to stir. Alex held her hand tightly as she came to.

"Alex… what happened?" Molly asked groggily.

"I don't know," Alex replied helplessly.

Molly looked around, blinking repeatedly, "Where are we?"

"I don't know that either. I remember… umm… my birthday! It-It's my birthday!" Alex suddenly burst out.

"Yes!" Molly agreed eagerly. "We went out for dinner–"

"And that waiter was flirting with you!"

"And then…" Molly's eyes darted around as she tried to recall the night's events, then fell still on Alex's. "The drinks tasted strange."

Alex's eyes widened, "Sweet."

"Almost like someone added extra sugar to–"

"Mask the taste of a drug," Alex moaned and ran a hand over her face, "I knew it! I _knew _something like this was going to happen tonight. It's him, it has to be... How long do you reckon we've been out?"

Molly shrugged, "Depends what we were given and what dosage it was. Could be something like diphenhydramine, ketamine, or just plain old-fashion liquid chloroform."

"Great. Great! How did he manage to do this? Mycroft had _armed guards _around the area. I begged him not to go through with this whole stupid birthday thing. I did! And look, _look _what's happened!" Alex shouted hysterically.

"Let's just stay calm."

However, as Molly began to stand up, she let out an agonized scream and fell back to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her legs, curling into a foetal position.

"Molly! What's wrong?" Alex asked frantically, holding onto the woman's shoulder.

"My leg," she gasped. "Ahh, Alex it hurts!"

Frowning, Alex turned her attention to Molly's leg, and nearly retched. Her dress was far enough up her thigh for Alex to see a large wound stretching about seven inches from her kneecap up. The bone was protruding a tiny bit through the skin, and it was most definitely broken.

"Molly," Alex swallowed. "It's going to be alright, just… uh… hold on, okay?"

"It's broken isn't it?" she asked, teeth gritted with pain.

Alex nodded.

"Okay," Molly said, panting. "I bet it was on that sharp fragment on the table when they pulled us out. You need to splint it. Look around, is there anything you can use?"

"Um," Alex scanned around the area. "That wooden skirting board looks weak. I could probably break it."

"Do it… just hurry up!"

Alex spun around to face the board, tucked her legs up to her chin, then kicked it as hard as she could. It splintered on impact. Alex picked up the longest, most unaffected bit and took it back to Molly.

"This is going to hurt," Alex warned, and held Molly's hand.

"I know, just do it."

Alex gave her a reassuring smile and slowly moved her leg into a straight position. Molly hissed and clung to Alex's arm in a vice-like grip, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. Once it was straight, Alex used her decorative belt to tie the splint to it.

"There you go, that should be okay," Alex said, rocking back onto her heels with sweat running down her face.

"I need to go to a hospital," Molly told her seriously.

"Daddy should be showing his face soon. Maybe I can barter for you to get a doctor or something," Alex said, sighing and leaning back against the wall of the caravan, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Are _you _okay?"

"Yeah. My head's just bleeding a little. They must have thought that the drug wasn't enough for me. I think they're overestimating my tolerance for drugs," Alex joked lightly, then a thought hit her. "I know it's probably pointless, but how do you feel about me trying the door?"

"Why haven't you already?" Molly asked.

"Because I'm a coward," Alex replied without missing a beat. "I kind of want it to be locked. Because if it is, it means we just have to stay here."

Molly frowned, "I don't understand what you mean. We need to get out."

"I know but you're in no condition to make a run for it if it is open, Molls. Last time, I had two fully-working legs and I ended up with a knife in my side and nearly died. At least here we're kind of safe…" Alex paused, grasping the situation. She added quietly, "But for how long?"

Alex took a deep breath and pulled herself to her feet. She took a step towards the caravan door and grasped the handle. She was about to push it open when her hand brushed against something. Paper. Brow furrowing, Alex pulled it out from where it was nestled behind the handle.

"What's that?" Molly questioned.

Alex shrugged and sat next to her, so that they could both read it. She unfolded it.

_Hello ladies! Not feeling too sore, I hope. Sorry about that leg Mollycoddle, I told them to be gentle. I'm sure Alex will look after you, she's a real credit to me. Isn't that right?_

_Now, let's get down to it. Because it's your birthday Alex, I thought that I would organise a little party game. A sort of treasure hunt. In which you two are the treasure. Isn't it brilliant! Now to liven things up a little, Uncle Sherlock and his little motley crew have forty-eight hours to find you two. If they haven't found you within the time limit, I'm afraid they've lost the game. And _you've_ lost your lives. See, there's something for everyone!_

_The rules for you are that you aren't allowed to open any of the doors, windows or curtains. If you do, it will count as cheating and you will trigger off a VIED (that's a __very__-improvised-explosive-device) and no one will be able to find enough of you to bury. Other than that, you're free to do what you like. Oh, and contact is also forbidden. And impossible. All signals in your general vicinity are blocked. You can't be called or tracked._

_Isn't this great! I'm so glad you two get on. It's always a worry isn't it, that the daughter won't like the new missus. Not that we're together anymore Molly. I haven't forgotten that fact. Neither will you every time you look at your leg._

_And Alex, sweetheart, happy sixteenth birthday. Let's hope you see seventeen._

_Love you both lots!_

_Jim_

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Alex closed her eyes, letting the letter fall to the floor. She knew it was him. Of course she did. She had known for weeks that this was going to happen.

"Sherlock will find us," Alex said firmly, or as firmly as her voice would allow.

"How?" Molly asked, tears in his eyes. "Alex, I know that he's amazing but how can he find us in just two days? Less than two days, now! He has no _idea _where we are! We can't do anything!"

"Calm down," Alex hushed, her head splitting with every raised syllable. "They'll find us. If not… then… we'll find our own way out."

"How?" Molly demanded desperately.

"I… I don't know," Alex confessed. "Look we're going to be here for a while, we might as well get comfortable."

Molly tried to rein in her tears of despair and pain as Alex lifted/dragged her onto the tattered and stained make-shift seats. She laid down and Alex propped up her wounded leg on the back cushions. Alex herself took the seat opposite, sitting up.

The dim light that had been peaking beneath the forbidden curtains had diminished. That meant that it had been about seven hours. That left another forty-one hours.

"They'll find us, Molly. They will," Alex vowed to her, but Molly was already asleep – the shock, pain, and after-effects of the drugs taking its toll.

_They _will _find us._

"Find me," Alex whispered, and she spent the rest of the night watching over Molly, massaging her head, and listening to the wind roar through the thin caravan walls.

_Find me._

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: TheArtist59, Loyal Elf, mercenary2 . 0, FlewandFlied, and Addie Holmes for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you now! :D**

**The next chapter of Little Innocent (the prequel) shall be up in the next couple of days.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Have a great day,**

**Abby**

**X**


	90. Spilling the Beans

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I've just got internet back today so I'm sorry for the wait. But I have been writing! To make up for it, I have merged chapters 90 and 91 to give you a double chapter :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_The dim light that had been peaking beneath the forbidden curtains had diminished. That meant that it had been about seven hours. That left another forty-one hours._

_"They'll find us, Molly. They will," Alex vowed to her, but Molly was already asleep – the shock, pain, and after-effects of the drugs taking its toll._

_They will find us._

_"Find me," Alex whispered, and she spent the rest of the night watching over Molly, massaging her head, and listening to the wind roar through the thin caravan walls._

_Find me._

Once Lestrade's team had taken the bodies and examined them, they had confirmed that the cause of the death had been a single GSW to the back. However, the toxicology reports showed that the men had been drugged beforehand – the same drug that those attending Alex's party had been given. This led to further analysis of the glasses used at the restaurant, and consequently the discovery that Alex and Molly had been given a much higher dose than everyone else, meaning that the culprit or at least the accomplice was the barman, and the two had definitely specifically been targeted.

As for the identity of the bodies themselves, records highlighted them as Khalid Chechi and Aston Banks. Sherlock had pinned up their images and various members of the Yard contributed snippets of information as they gathered it, giving Sherlock and John sympathetic looks as they did so.

Sherlock seemed to be holding up better than John, who had his head in his hands sat behind Lestrade's desk. It wasn't that one of them was more affected than the other, the younger man just was more able to bury his emotions.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the board and surveyed the information they had.

"We need to speak to Chechi's family," he suddenly spoke up after almost ninety minutes of silence.

John jumped at the sound of his voice and rubbed his eyes. It was dark outside. It made him wonder if Alex and Molly were staring out at the sky as well. If they could see the sky. Maybe all they could see was darkness anyway.

"Uh, he lived the other side of the city with his flatmate," Anderson said from the doorway, having just entered when Sherlock spoke.

Both men turned to him, surprised at the lack of venom in his voice.

"I'm not a complete git, you know. Doesn't matter if we don't get on, I'll help find your friend and niece," Anderson said seriously. "She's a kid for Christ's sake."

Sherlock nodded impatiently, "Just give me the address."

* * *

><p>It was pitch black when they arrived, two o'clock in the morning. Lestrade had half-heartedly told them that it wasn't policy to interview family in the middle of the night but raised his hands in surrender at the withering look sent by both Sherlock and John.<p>

"What you two want?" a man in his young twenties slurred after they knocked repeatedly on the door. "I dinnit have any left."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Sherlock said, pushing past the man and into the flat.

John edged around him a little more politely.

"Oi, you cannit just walk into me flat!" he exclaimed, Geordie accent clearly shining through now.

Sherlock ignored him – letting John explain that they were with the police – and entered the living room. It was small, obviously a place occupied by male students. The place was an absolute mess. Sherlock trod carefully around the clutter and pulled on of the cushions on the sofa forwards, inspecting everything.

By this time, Chechi's flatmate was more or less coherent.

"What're you looking for?" he asked.

Sherlock sighed, proceeding to tell him bluntly, "Your flatmate has been murdered by the same person who is probably going to murder one of my friends and my niece. The killer will have most probably been here and therefore possibly providing us with crucial evidence so unless you want me to make up that you're obstructing the course of justice, I would advise that you shut your mouth and only speak when answering my questions. Clear?"

The man looked stunned for a moment, blinked, and nodded his head rapidly.

"Good. Your name is Andrew Tweddle?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yeah."

"How long have you lived with Mr Chechi?"

"Nearly a year," he replied instantly. "A long year."

Sherlock tilted his head a little to the side, scrutinising him, "You don't seem too upset about his death."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tweddle demanded, raising his voice a little. "You think I wanted him dead?!"

"No," John quickly put in. "We just mean, were you two not on the best of terms?"

Andrew inhaled sharply and exhaled, calming himself, "We never really got on, I suppose. He was a bit of an introvert. Never went out to parties. Never met with friends. Just spent all of this time on the phone to his parents or at the mosque. Khalid was the face of homesickness. In fact, he was talking about leaving uni early to go back home to Pakistan."

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't know what you want me to tell you!"

"I want you to tell me everything."

And so the interrogation dragged on for nearly three hours, talking about everything from Chechi's recent daily attempts at making a strange curry that made anyone in a two mile radius's eyes water, to the fact that you could hear him snore three floors down.

John only dragged Sherlock away when the sun was coming up. He went wordlessly and didn't speak all of the way back to Scotland Yard, going straight to the board and pinning up the new information.

"I need the number for Chechi's parents," Sherlock announced, and a hush fell over the murmuring room.

Several people looked up at him with grimaces, others glancing between each other.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at them suspiciously, "What's happened?"

Donovan stood up, keeping her eyes on the ground as she crossed the room and knocked on Lestrade's office door. He emerged and she whispered something to him. The detective inspector glanced at Sherlock and John, face softening.

"You guys need to see something," he backed into his office and held the door open for them.

John and Sherlock exchanged a look and followed him.

"What's this about?" John demanded. "Have you found them?"

Lestrade chewed the side of his mouth, blinking rapidly.

"No," Sherlock said slowly. "It's another letter, isn't it?"

Lestrade lifted a sheet of paper from his desk, and underneath laid an evidence bag. It was only when he held it up, that the boys saw the contents. It was indeed another note. But the words weren't what were so shocking, it was the paper. It was stained with blood. Lots of blood. Drowning in it, making the ink run. Streams of dark crimson dripped from the bottom of the sheet and rolled down the plastic bag, gathering into a little pond in the bottom.

_Tick-tock._

Those were the words. Just two heavy words.

Sherlock managed to tear his eyes away from the bag and up to Lestrade's misty eyes.

"Whose is it?"

Lestrade cleared his throat before answering, "Molly's."

Sherlock was ashamed to say that at that, he felt a surge of relief. He quickly realised what he was thinking, though, and pushed it from his mind. The image of the mousy little pathologist that had lusted after him for years, who would do anything for him. She must have been in a lot of pain to produce that much blood. A primal compulsion to protect her coursed through him.

"There's a little of Alex's, but not too much. Just a drop or two apparently."

John pinched the bridge of his nose, "I can't believe this. Why would he... I mean, sorry Sherlock, but she's his _daughter. _Why would he hurt her like this over and over?"

Sherlock answered after a few minutes, speaking painfully – this was what he had been working out for months, "He loves her. She's the daughter he didn't know he had. But he's a psychopath, this is his way of love. He's testing her. Seeing if she can get out of situations and how much… pain… she can take. Maybe he's seeing if she's worthy of being his."

Lestrade scoffed, "He's not worthy of _having_ her."

"Well we have another 39 hours to get them both back or they won't be anybody's."

* * *

><p>Throughout the night, it was so dark that Alex couldn't see anything. That all-penetrating darkness that was so suffocating and crushing that it made it hard to breathe. Then the flashbacks started. It was that dark, that her mind began to fill in the darkness with images of its own concoction. Unfortunately for Alex, her mind jumped back to another dark place. The room she had been held in at the funhouse. She felt the same fear. Felt the same pain. For a second, she would get flashes of little multi-coloured LEDs, the sound of knives embedding in a target… the feeling of water rising around her.<p>

It was only when tears were falling down her cheeks and her mind was numb with exhaustion that she shuffled over to Molly and clung to her hand. That was her only part of reality. Molly hadn't been at the funhouse. So Alex couldn't be there now.

But how long would it be until _this _hell became as bad as the one before it?

* * *

><p>The two awoke when the sun was poking out from beneath the blinds. It gave them just enough light to able to see each other.<p>

Molly instructed Alex on how to change the makeshift dressing on her leg – made from Alex's actual dress – and Alex helped Molly into the little bathroom on the other side of the caravan. It was tiny – about the size of a stand-in shower, and only held a toilet and sink - which was devoid of water.

When she was settled back on the sofa with her leg up, Molly told Alex to give her her hand. Bemused, Alex did.

Molly pinched the skin on the back of her hand, and Alex frowned as the skin stayed up in the same state when she let go. It slowly sank back into position.

"That means I'm dehydrated, right?" Alex asked.

"Badly," Molly answered gravely. "I'm the same. That drug must have taken up a lot of our fluids. I'd say we can only keep going like this for another day or two without water."

"By that time we'll have either be hooked up to an IV line or dead anyway," Alex said soberly.

Molly grasped her hand tightly, now for comfort rather than medical reasons, "Hey, try and stay positive. You never know, Sherlock might have already figured out where we are and is on his way to get us right now."

"With a McDonalds?"

Molly grinned, "With a McDonalds."

Alex laughed quietly with her, joking about how he was about to open the door.

But they knew he wasn't.

* * *

><p>After the reminder of the threat in Lestrade's office – how could they forget? – Sherlock got a sudden idea and disappeared off to the morgue, John trailing behind him. It struck the doctor how strange the morgue looked without Molly there, which only made the feeling of despair even stronger.<p>

"How much of the drug was in there systems compared to ours?" Sherlock demanded of the stand-in pathologist.

"Triple, why?" she replied.

But Sherlock had already gone.

* * *

><p>"We were unconscious for two hours," Sherlock explained to John as he spread the world map across Lestrade's office wall. "That means Molly and Alex would be unconscious for six. That gives us an approximate distance they could be. We just need to find everywhere in a six hour radius."<p>

He drew a red circle with a compass across the area that they could have travelled in six hours.

"But we don't know what type of transport they used," John protested.

Sherlock stopped, he hadn't thought about that, "Well… it rules out America and Russia… but," he drew a second red circle 5 times bigger than the one he had drawn previously, encompassing most of Europe.

He then took out his phone.

**Have you checked air space? – SH**

The phone immediately buzzed.

**All flights and sea voyages accounted for. They didn't leave the country. – MH**

Sherlock's lips twitched up into a somewhat triumphant grin.

"That means they have to have travelled in a car or van," he turned his attention back to the smaller circle around most of England. "He would have wanted to leave some extra time to make sure that they wouldn't wake up mid-journey, as well. He would leave at least an hour. That takes us down to five hours. That narrows it down even further."

"So now we just need to find the connection between Chechi and Banks and slot that into that radius. Then we've found them," John said.

"Then we've found them," Sherlock repeated, turning away from the board. "We need to speak to Chechi's parents now. Then take a run at Banks's family."

"I'll go and see if they have the number for the Chechi's yet," John said, but was blocked by one of Lestrade's detectives appearing in the doorway.

"Mr and Mrs Chechi are here," he announced, then ducking back out.

"What?" John frowned. "I thought they lived in Pakistan."

"They do," Sherlock replied, mirroring his frown and walking out into the main working area.

However, sure enough, Mr and Mrs Chechi were stood there, Mrs Chechi crying softly into her husband's shoulder with his arm around her. John, seeing that Sherlock wasn't going to offer any sympathy, held out his hand.

"I'm Dr Watson. Very sorry for your loss."

Mr Chechi shook his hand sombrely, "Are you here to find out who killed Khalid?"

"Yes, myself and Mr Holmes," John indicated to Sherlock.

Chechi nodded to him.

"Would you like to come through to my office?" Lestrade ushered them inside away from the nosy stares of his team.

"I'm just curious, how did you get here so fast?" Sherlock asked as they took their seats in front of the desk.

"A Mr Mycroft Holmes contacted us. It was not long after you called us and told us about… Khalid," his father choked out his son's name. "He gave us tickets and the plane arrived to take us ten minutes later."

"We want to do everything we can to find out who did this to our boy," Mrs Chechi added vehemently.

"Of course," Lestrade said. "We just have a few questions–"

"Was your son into anything illegal?" Sherlock interrupted bluntly.

The couple looked appalled, "No! Never! He was always a good boy! H-he used to ring every morning and night at ten before he went to bed. Tell us about his day."

Mrs Chechi sniffled.

John glared at Sherlock. Sherlock blew out through his nose, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.

"Your son was a bit of a loner, was he not?" Sherlock questioned, forcing himself to take a calmer tone of voice.

"He didn't have many friends in England. He missed home too much," Mr Chechi replied.

"We understand Khalid wanted to drop out of university to come back to Pakistan. Is that right?" John asked.

"What?" Mrs Chechi breathed. "He was dropping out of his course?"

"I take it you didn't know."

"No!" Mr Chechi exclaimed. "He never mentioned anything. Why wouldn't he do that? It cost us thousands to send him there!"

"Januu," Mrs Chechi clutched her husband's arm. "That could be what he was going to tell us next week."

"Next week?" Lestrade asked.

"Uh, Khalid was taking us camping somewhere in England," Mr Chechi replied distractedly before turning to his wife. "You really think he would drop out of university?"

Mrs Chechi gave him a heartbroken smile, and looked to John, Lestrade, and Sherlock, "He was always a Mother's Boy. Even as a little child. He cried every time he was away from… from us."

Her voice cracked on the last word and her resolve broke. Her husband tried his best to calm her down, but had no choice but to leave, tears gathering in his own eyes as he stood, supporting his wife under the arms.

"We are staying here for a few days in a hotel nearby. Please call us if you find anything."

Lestrade nodded respectfully as they left.

It was silent for a moment before Sherlock jumped to his feet and crossed the room.

"Sherlock, where are you going?" John demanded.

"To talk to Aston Banks's family," Sherlock said as if it was obvious.

"No way. No, you're going home," John said forcefully. "You haven't slept for nearly a week now. You said you would last night but _this _happened. You're going to be no good to Molly or Alex passed out in a hospital bed."

Sherlock's eyes flashed with fury, "Do you really think I'm going to just go home and have a nice nap while my niece and my friend might be dying right now?"

"Sherlock, I'm just looking out for you."

"Then stop."

"Sherlock…" John began condescendingly, waiting for Sherlock to cut him off.

He didn't disappoint.

"Let me get this one thing very clear for you, I am going to continue with this case until I find Alex and Molly. Whether that be tomorrow, next week, or next year, so you can back off with your doctor's orders, _Doctor _Watson."

John glowered back at him, pausing before saying, "Fine. I can't make you sleep, but I can make you eat. Get a sandwich from the canteen and I'll leave you alone."

Sherlock scoffed.

"Okay, you won't eat? Fine. Then I'll drag you home. I'll have help, too. I'm sure Lestrade can rally up some of his people to keep you under house arrest," John threatened.

"We're wasting time–"

"Then eat a goddamned sandwich!" John shouted.

"Fine!" Sherlock shouted back and slammed the office door behind him as he left.

John took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes, instantly calmer.

"Did you just manipulate the great Sherlock Holmes into eating something on a case?" Lestrade asked incredulously.

John shrugged, "He needs to keep his strength, no matter about all that crap about how digesting slows him down. He needs to take care of himself and because he can't do that and Alex isn't here to rollick him, it's my job."

"He's lucky to have you," Lestrade said softly. "Especially at times like this. Hopefully the last of what has been many."

"Do you think we'll find them in time?" John asked quietly.

"I don't know," Lestrade answered honestly.

John sighed, "I just hope it isn't like last time. I mean, you saw the state of Alex when she came back. She was a wreck both emotionally and physically. It was just like some of the men I treated in Afghanistan. To put her through that again, and put Molly through it too…"

Lestrade clapped him on the shoulder, "I know, mate. We just have to try and keep our heads up and try not to think about the possibility that we might not find them. They're two strong women, especially when they're together. That's an advantage on last year."

"Yeah… I suppose they'd have to be strong to put up with Sherlock for this long."

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>Alex checked her phone that had been in her inside pocket. She was trying to preserve battery – only twenty percent left. It didn't have much use except for the time. Like the note said, there was no incoming or outgoing signal available. She couldn't call for help.<p>

"Why did you even get an inside pocket anyway?" Molly asked.

"Just be grateful I did," Alex retorted a little sharply.

Molly frowned at her, "Hey, don't start on me. It isn't my fault we're here."

Alex turned off the phone and let it fall onto her lap, "I know. I'm sorry. I just… I expected this to happen. I should've done something. And now you're here as well, because of me."

"I'm here because I was stupid enough to think I was in love with a psychopath," Molly said bluntly. "It's neither of our faults that we're here."

Alex gave a non-committal grunt.

"You don't believe that?" Molly asked.

Alex sighed, "It's just... last year seems so long ago, but at the same time, it doesn't. It's weird, I can't explain it."

"Try."

Alex leant her head back against the wall, eyes shimmering just a little, "I remember the night we got away so clearly. Standing next to Logan, April between us. I remember the feeling that overwhelmed us… we were free. I mean, I was sure that I was going to die there. But I didn't. We didn't. I just remember that feeling that against everything, we were still breathing. It's like it was yesterday," Alex cleared her throat, trying not to let her emotions show. "But then I think of everything that happened since then and… it seems like it happened years ago."

Molly frowned, "What do you mean 'everything that happened since'? You mean with Irene Adler?"

"That, and everything with Wil–" Alex stopped herself, heart racing. Did she just…? No, maybe Molly hadn't noticed her slip.

But she had.

"Who?" Molly asked.

Alex licked her lips, dread rolling through her like waves. She couldn't. She had promised him. What if Molly told Sherlock and Mycroft? She couldn't tell her. But they were probably going to die here. And even if they didn't, there was no one else in the world that she would rely on to keep a secret than Molly.

"Molly… I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise that you will never _ever _tell anyone else. Not Sherlock, or Mycroft, or John. Anyone. Promise me," Alex said purposefully, leaning forward and grasping Molly's hand.

Molly's eyes widened, "This is big, isn't it?"

Alex nodded gravely.

"Is it about Logan?" she asked.

"If you promise not to tell a soul… I'll tell you everything."

Molly squeezed her hand, "I promise."

Alex took a deep breath, "It started last year on the day we got away. There was man...called William."

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John had arrived at the Banks residence shortly after the argument – which they pointedly ignored. John was satisfied that Sherlock had eaten something and Sherlock was glad to have John stop nagging him. Now they could concentrate.<p>

Mrs Banks was understandably distraught upon hearing of her husband's death and now, the day after, she didn't look any better. She answered the door with puffy eyes and poured tea with a shaky hand in the living room.

John looked at the poorly drawn pictures that lined the walls and toys that littered the floor.

"You have children?" John asked.

"Yes," Mrs Banks replied waveringly. "Jordan and Alex."

Sherlock's eye twitched. John noticed and was about to say something when Sherlock spoke for himself.

"We may need to speak to them later," Sherlock said, apparently brushing off the name.

Mrs Banks looked wary.

"We won't upset them," John hurried to add. "It may be beneficial to the case."

Mrs Banks shook her head at herself, "Of course, sorry. Aston always said I was overprotective. Not that he was any different. He doted on them."

Her eyes filled with tears and she looked away.

"I understand this is hard," John said softly. "But could you answer just a few questions for us?"

She nodded painfully.

"Where did your husband work?" Sherlock asked.

"The children's hospital just down the road."

"Did he have many friends?"

"Um, yes, I suppose. He was often talking to people on the phone," she smiled sadly. "Going over our network contract allowance as usual."

"Did he have any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to do this to Aston?"

"No," she shook her head firmly. "Everyone loved Aston. It was impossible not to."

Sherlock and John exchanged glances. They were getting nowhere.

"Could we perhaps speak to your children?" Sherlock asked.

Mrs Banks hesitated, then left the room.

John sighed, rubbing his eyes, "We're getting no further, Sherlock. The guy was a boy scout. Even Lestrade said before we left. No criminal record whatsoever, saved hundreds of children's lives at the hospital, devoted to his family… why would anyone want to hurt a man like that?"

Sherlock's lips became a tight line, "You go and talk to Banks's wife in the next room. I'll talk to Jordan and Alex."

John eyed him cautiously.

Sherlock sighed, "I'll be nice. I am capable of being around children, you know. I did raise Alex."

"Okay," John raised his hands in surrender. "I just–"

"Who are you?" a small yet brazen voice asked from the doorway.

Sherlock and John turned to see a small boy of about seven stood with his arms folded across his chest, glaring at them. A little girl of around four clung to his leg.

"Jordan," Mrs Banks admonished half-heartedly. "Don't be rude."

Jordan ignored her, taking a protective stance in front of his sister and mother.

"You're upsetting Mummy," he stated. "Go away."

"Jordan," Mrs Banks said a warning tone.

He reluctantly shut up.

"Mrs Banks, do you mind if we talk in a separate room while Sherlock talks to Jordan and Alex?" John asked.

"Sure," she smiled wanly. "Go on you two."

John followed Mrs Banks out of the living room, sending Sherlock a lingering look. A look that told him to behave. Sherlock resisted the urge to scowl.

The two children remained in the doorway, Jordan however having no qualm in openly scowling at Sherlock.

"My name's Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself. "What are your names?"

"Jordan, didn't you hear my mummy?" he said brusquely.

Sherlock nodded - he boy reminded him of himself when he was his age - and looked at the girl, bracing himself, "And yours?"

She popped her head from behind her brother's knees, answering in a tiny voice, "Alexis… but everyone calls me Alex."

She didn't look much like Alex did when she was younger, with blonde hair and green eyes. Alex had always had the same soft blue-grey eyes and jet black ringlets. The thought of them made Sherlock's breathing hitch for a moment.

"That's my picture," Alexis pointed to one of the many on the wall.

"Shut up," her brother nudged her.

"Which one?" Sherlock asked.

Bravely, Alexis ventured from behind Jordan and teetered over to the wall, stretching onto her tiptoes to reach the painting that was hers.

"It's the beach," she said.

"I can see that," Sherlock replied. "The sand is a little too yellow, isn't it?"

He immediately thought that he had made a mistake by saying that, insulting wasn't the way to go with a child. But he was surprised.

"Yeah," Alexis sighed. "I wanted to melt the orange and yellow crayon together to make a better colour but I broke Mummy's hairdryer melting them so I wasn't allowed."

"Well, the sea's right. It must be at low tide."

"Is Daddy dead?" Alexis asked suddenly, out of the blue.

Sherlock stayed silent for a moment, "Um… yes."

Alexis processed this before nodding, "And you're there to catch who killed him?"

"Yes."

"And you want us to answer questions like Mummy did?"

"If you can."

Alexis nodded strongly, "I was upset at first and I cried a lot but now I'm just sad. I can answer questions to help Daddy."

"And you, Jordan?" Sherlock asked the boy.

He narrowed his eyes at his sister, then nodded grudgingly. He walked over to the sofa opposite Sherlock and sat next to his sister.

"What do you want to know?"

"Did you notice anything strange about your father over the last few days?" Sherlock asked.

"Daddy," Alexis corrected. "He didn't like father 'cos he said it was too posh. Daddy was from up in Northern world so he wasn't posh. Where people say 'mam' instead of 'mummy', and go t' pub."

"Alex, he doesn't want to know about that," Jordan elbowed her. "No, I didn't notice anything different about him. He was just normal."

"What about you Alexis, did you notice anything?" Sherlock asked.

Alexis swallowed, shuffling slightly in her seat, "No."

Sherlock tilted his head, "Are you sure?"

Her breathing increased slightly, "Sure."

"You would tell me if you knew _anything _at all, right?"

"Mmm... uh-huh..."

"You're lying!" Jordan cried. "You're rubbing your feet together! That means you're lying!"

"Shut _up!" _Alexis yelled, close to tears.

"Alexis," Sherlock said. "This might help your daddy. He would want you to tell me."

"I can't," she whispered.

Sherlock frowned, "Is someone threatening you? I mean, is someone stopping you from telling me?"

"I'll beat them up!" Jordan shouted. "Tell!"

"I don't want to!"

"Please, Alexis," Sherlock implored. "The man who hurt your daddy could hurt two people I care very much about. Please help me help them."

Alexis cuddled into Jordan's side with tears down her face, "It was a few days ago. Me and Daddy were in Starry Books–"

"She means Starbucks," Jordan supplied.

"And Daddy went to get me a chocolate coin. I was at the table with my colouring book and then a man sat in Daddy's seat and went on Daddy's laptop. I asked him what he was doing and he gave me a bar of chocolate and told me to be quiet and nothing would happen. He said he just needed to check his emails and that was okay with Daddy. But when Daddy came back, he went on his computer and looked really happy and didn't ask about the man. I didn't tell 'cos he was scary."

"How?" Sherlock demanded eagerly – perhaps this was the breakthrough they had been waiting for. "What did he look like?"

"Uh… he had a blue cap."

"What else? Age? Eye colour? Skin colour? Hair colour? Accent? Build?" Sherlock rattled off.

"I didn't see his hair. He was quite tanned. Muscly. I-I don't know anything else," Alexis said and buried her face in Jordan's shoulder. "I don't want to answer questions anymore."

"Which Starbucks would this be?" Sherlock asked Jordan.

"It's just round the corner. Must've been on Tuesday when they came back from the dentist."

Sherlock jumped to his feet.

"Thank you both," he said sincerely and ran to get John.

* * *

><p>Molly laid stunned at the revelations that Alex had just revealed. She had been silent for a few minutes now, making Alex nervous as to what she was thinking. Did she think any less of her? Did she disapprove of helping William? Did she not believe that Alex hadn't known about Logan's identity?<p>

"Molly… say something," Alex piped up quietly.

Molly blinked rapidly, "I had no idea. He was such a sweet boy… all through school… And this William or whatever his real name is! How did…? Why would…? I...I-I just can't get my head around it!"

"How do you think I feel," Alex offered jokingly.

"But why did you help William escape anyway? That's what I don't understand," Molly asked. "He's a murderer."

"You and I both know that I've made some stupid mistakes over the years, but I honestly don't think William was one of them," Alex said firmly.

"Really?"

"Put it this way, I'm sure I'd do the same thing again if I had to now."

Molly nodded, "Well hopefully you've seen the back of him. But if he ever comes back, you've got to tell Sherlock."

"I know. But I don't think he'll be back. He'd be an idiot to, and William is no idiot. At least not from what I've seen of him," Alex replied. "It's all a bit of a mess, right?"

"That's an understatement," Molly snorted. "What time is it?"

Alex checked the phone, "Quarter past seven. We've had half of our time," Alex blew out a breath. "And we've spent it gossiping about the past."

"Well what else can we do? The note was clear, the only way we are getting out of here is if Sherlock finds us. There's no way we can contact him and no way we can get out either. We just have to wait."

"I know, I just hate feeling so helpless."

"Same," Molly pointed to her leg. "I'm even more helpless than you."

Alex grimaced, "Sorry. Does the bandage need changing?"

Molly craned her neck up off the sofa to see, "Normally I would say yes but it doesn't really seem to matter if it gets infected now. I'll be dead before _that _kills me if this goes badly."

"Yes, but we have to hope that it won't," Alex stood up and took a handful of her dress from the hem at the back. "There isn't going to be much of my dress left soon."

She had ripped it several times before to wrap Molly's leg without difficulty, but this time, she felt a sharp sting as she did so.

Alex hissed.

"What have you done?" Molly asked.

Alex replied with a pained expression, "I must have just scratched myself pulling the fabric."

"Let's see."

Alex turned to show Molly the back of her leg.

"Alex, you're bleeding!"

Alex frowned, "Much?"

"Not in the grand scheme of things but too much for you to have just scratched yourself, unless you're wolverine. Give me some of that fabric," she ordered.

Alex handed her the strip and winced when Molly began to dab at the back of her thigh. Surely she hadn't cut herself that deeply. But she thought of Molly's leg and how brave the woman was being, and decided to stop complaining.

After a few moments, Molly's cleaning ministrations stopped. The pathologist inhaled sharply.

"What's wrong?" Alex demanded.

"Alex... in your skin… cut into it…"

"Yes?"

"There are numbers."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: LoyalElf, Guest, FlewandFlied, AddieHolmes, ShatteredBlue221, AzureTheVampire, and rycbar15 for reviewing! Thanks so much for the support, I really appreciate it.<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you soon :)**

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**Check out the prequel if you're interested in little oneshots of Alex growing up :)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	91. Slipping

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello :) I hope you all had a nice week. Mine was filled with exams but this has been a great stress reliever and seeing the reviews, follows and, favourites from you guys has really kept me going so thank you all!**

**This chapter has a little bit of gruesomeness so I will indicate with an * when it begins and where it ends if you don't want to read it :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex handed her the strip and winced when Molly began to dab at the back of her thigh. Surely she hadn't cut herself that deeply. But she thought of Molly's leg and how brave the woman was being, and decided to stop complaining. _

_After a few moments, Molly's cleaning ministrations stopped. The pathologist inhaled sharply. _

_"What's wrong?" Alex demanded._

_"Alex... in your skin… cut into it…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"There are numbers."_

Alex was silent for a moment.

"You must be seeing things," she concluded, turning around to face Molly.

Molly shook her head firmly, "No, I'm not. I'm telling you, there are numbers here… It looks like your handwriting."

"That's ridiculous, I didn't do that. Why would I carve something into my own skin? And the back of my leg, no less? I mean, that's pretty hard to get to considering I'm less flexible than a plank of wood," Alex said.

"Are you _sure _you didn't?"

"Yes! I think I'd remember if I did."

Molly looked thoughtful, "But what if you don't remember?"

Alex furrowed her brow, "What are you getting at?"

Molly pointed to Alex's leg, "Those cuts look pretty new. A couple of days at the most… Think, why would they need to hit you on the head as well as drug you."

Alex's face darkened in realisation, "Because I woke up before we got here."

Molly nodded, "That must be when you made those marks. Do you remember anything?"

Alex strained her mind, screwing her eyes closed.

"Nothing. The last thing I remember before waking up here is laughing with you about the barman. Bastard," she added. So you must have woken up when we were being moved, but had time to cut myself, so they didn't notice right away…"

"Which means were in the back of a van or something," Molly chipped in.

"Where would I get numbers from in the back of a van, though? Is it the number plate?"

"No. Too many numbers."

"What are they?"

"Give me your phone, I'll take a photo."

Alex handed her the device, heard the soft clicking sound effect of a picture being taken, and took it back. The photo made her wince. Molly had cleaned up the excess blood, so the crimson numbers stood out starkly against her pale thigh. The skin around the numbers was irritated, but Alex could make it out.

5429252035512

"That doesn't make _any _sense," Alex stated.

"I know," Molly agreed. "It can't be a phone number or an address or fax or number plate… what were you thinking, really? You couldn't be more specific?"

"I don't think I had any more time," Alex pointed to the last number on the photo. "Look at the two. You're right, it's my handwriting without a doubt, but the bottom of the two is too stretched, two wobbly. Almost like–"

"Someone made you jump."

"Maybe a certain someone who happened to glance back and find me awake."

"And wasn't overly happy about it."

"Exactly."

Alex ran a hand over her face and turned her attention back to the phone.

"So maybe if we figure out what this means, we won't need Sherlock to find us after all," Molly said optimistically.

"I think it's just as well. Something tells me that they're going to cut this extremely fine."

* * *

><p>"There!" Sherlock shouted, causing the techie to wince and hold his ear.<p>

"Jesus," the man muttered and zoomed in on the face that Sherlock was pointing to.

John leaned forward to get a look. They had been trailing through CCTV footage of the Starbucks where Aston Banks and his daughter had visited, and finally after hours, they had found them. They watched as little Alexis clung to her father's hand and skipped over to an empty table. She sat and the two spoke (probably about what she wanted to drink), then Banks left and returned with the beverages. He opened up his laptop and began to type.

"There's no other person there," the techie pointed out obviously. "Are you sure the kid was telling you the truth?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently, "Look, is she holding a chocolate coin?"

"No," the techie said slowly, not grasping what Sherlock was getting at.

"Is there one on the table?"

"No, but–"

"Exactly, so wait. Alexis told me that her father left to get her a chocolate coin. If there isn't one there now, he must be leaving soon to go and get it."

As soon as the words left the detective's mouth, Banks stood up, ruffling his daughter's hair and disappearing round the corner of the coffee shop. The other CCTV camera saw him pick up a chocolate coin and wait in line at the till.

Sherlock gave the techie a superior look before focussing his attention on the camera showing Alexis Banks. She was absent-mindedly colouring in when a man approached from behind her – face conveniently hidden from the camera – and sat in the seat previously occupied by her father. She frowned and said something that look a little like 'who in the world are you?'. He reached into his pocket and handed her a chocolate bar, moving close to her face, then concentrating on the laptop.

Sherlock sent a quick text to Lestrade.

**Get Banks' laptop ASAP – SH**

The man looked up from the laptop and seemed to stare in the corner of the ceiling, into what Sherlock soon realised to be a small mirror. He was watching Banks from around the corner. Banks finished paying up and was just about to round the corner when the man took off. Banks gave Alexis her chocolate coin, and she hid her chocolate bar in her sleeve. She looked a little shaken but continued to colour while Banks looked back to the laptop.

Nothing else happened for the next twenty-five minutes that they were in there, and the techie shut off the feed.

"Go back to the frame when he's looking in the mirror," Sherlock ordered.

"You won't be able to see his face," the techie said. "It's a curved mirror, designed for people to watch round corners, not themselves. To stop–"

"Waiters bumping into each other, I know," Sherlock snapped. "But as it's a curved mirror, _Banks _will be able to see round the corner, _and _see our mystery man's face. Don't take me for an idiot, I'm at least four times smarter than you, now rewind the footage."

The techie blushed and put it back to the point that it was at.

"Slow it down," Sherlock said. "…Now… pause."

The footage stopped as Banks was just turning around to head back towards the table.

"Zoom in on the mirror."

The image of the mirror was brought up to be full screen.

"Give me a sec," the techie said, tapping the mouse furiously. "Just let me enhance the image a little for you."

The pixels slowly became smaller and more compact, the profile of the man becoming clearer and clearer until it was almost HD. The cap obscured the top half of his face, but the bottom half was exposed. That would be enough to run it through facial recognition.

"Send this to Jackson, get him to find out who this guy is."

* * *

><p>"How much longer now?" Molly asked in a tired voice.<p>

"Twelve hours and thirty-two minutes," Alex answered monotonously, staring at the numbers she had written on the wooden flooring.

She couldn't see on her own leg, and her phone battery was dying so she couldn't keep looking at the photo of it. The only other option was to write it down, but with no pen available, Alex regrettably had to write it out using the little pool of Molly's blood from when they first woke up.

Since they had found it, Alex had strained and strained to remember anything that would make the numbers make sense, but was only succeeding in giving herself a headache.

She slammed her hand down on the floor in frustration. Hard. She then promptly swore – loudly.

"I _HATE _this!" Alex yelled, wiggling her fingers to make sure that none of them were broken. "I _HATE _knowing that I did this but not knowing _why!"_

"Alex, calm down," Molly said half-heartedly.

"I'm not going to calm down! They've done this to us. Look at your leg. They did that. They're laughing at us Molly! These numbers probably don't even mean anything! They're taunting us!"

"I know, but we just… we just… have to," she coughed into her hand. "Ignore them. Sherlock will–"

"_Ignore them?" _Alex burst out. "I'm going to kill them for what they're doing to us. What they've done to you." Alex stood up and brayed on the caravan doors. "D'you hear me?! I swear, as soon as I get out of here, I'm going to hunt every _single _one of you down, and rip you apart! Don't think I'm not capable of it! Remember whose daughter I am! Scared of him? Huh? YOU BETTER BE SCARED OF ME!"

"_Alex," _Molly pleaded.

Alex paused as she was about to throw another punch at the door. Something in the way Molly spoke made all of the anger drain out of her, concern replacing it.

"Molls?"

"I don't feel well," Molly said faintly.

Alex walked over and crouched in front of her, "It'll just be the stale air in here."

Molly swallowed, "Undo the bandage on my leg. Check what colour the skin is."

Alex did as she was told, flinching as Molly almost screamed with pain. More than when she first wrapped it. That in itself wasn't a good sign. Neither was what laid beneath the dressing.

"Oh, Molly," Alex breathed.

The flesh around the wound was extremely inflamed and swollen. A scarlet patch that strayed a good five inches around the incision also seemed to be raised. Alex probed tentatively around the area.

"No!" Molly cried. "Don't, don't touch it."

Alex took a shaky breath and held a hand to Molly's forehead, then recoiled at the warmth she found there.

"It's infected, isn't it?" Molly guessed a scared gleam in her eye.

She had every right to be scared. As a pathologist, she knew the dangers of infection.

"Yes."

"How bad?"

"Not that bad."

Molly gave her a pointed look, even in her weak state, "Alex, you aren't understating this to reassure me are you? I need you to tell me the truth. I need to determine how bad this is so I know what I need to do. I'm the medic out of the two of us."

"You deal with dead people though."

"Which is what I'll be if you don't be straight with me. How bad on a scale of one to ten?"

Alex avoided the older woman's eye as she said, "Eight, maybe. Given your fever as well."

Molly's face flashed with fear, but it quickly morphed into pain as she clutched around her leg, not actually daring to touch it.

"I need to get to a hospital, now," she ground out through gritted teeth.

"I know," Alex replied, running the back of her hand over Molly's sweaty forehead. "You're going to be okay, Molly. I'll – I'll…" Alex stood up and ran to the door, her pounding much more urgent than violent this time. "Hey! Hey! Molly, she needs a doctor! She has an infection!"

There was silence on the other side of the door.

"Hey, are you listening to me?! She's going to die if you don't do something! That wasn't the game! You can't just ignore me! She's dying, didn't you hear me?! Listen! Hey! Listen to me! LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN TO ME! LISTEN TO ME!"

Alex continued to scream for them until her throat was raw, and the most she could utter was a defeated squeak. She turned back to Molly and wiped more sweat from her brow. She was shivering now. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. Alex deduced that she had passed out.

The younger girl held onto Molly's limp hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"We're going to be okay, Molls. I promise. I know things seem bad but we always pull through, don't we?" Alex smiled nostalgically. "Remember when I was little and I broke that window at Mycroft's and I was so scared that I rang you and told you to sneak in? I was showing you the window when we heard him coming down the corridor so I pulled you to my room and we hid in the wardrobe. You put a hand over my mouth because I was breathing too loud and I said that your hand–"

"Tasted of Shropshire Blue cheese," they finished together.

Molly's eyes were open a fraction, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. Alex blinked away tears, pressing her lips together tightly so as not to let out a sob.

"Hold on, Molls. Just hold on."

Sherlock and John were in the main area of Scotland Yard, where most of the computers and desks were. Jackson was running through the facial records to see if there was a match for the guy with Banks' daughter, and another new recruit was checking through the history of the laptop to see what he was doing with it.

The detective hadn't taken his eyes from the board he had constructed in the past two hours. John had been given the files on both of the families of Mr Chechi and Mr Banks, and he busied himself with the task of trying to identify any links.

"As far as I can tell," John said. "The two men didn't even meet. They lived on the opposite side of the city, it's possible that they had never even passed each other on the street. They didn't speak online or on the phone… they are just two complete strangers."

Sherlock shook his head, "Something connects them. This man is the best bet and the only lead we have right now."

"Yeah, maybe he can give us some answers," John rubbed his eyes. "I keep thinking about that blood. Do you think they'd give Molly medical attention? I mean, I know Alex is pretty wised up on that stuff after all those procedures you made me teach her, but she isn't a doctor. That's assuming they're actually together."

"They are," Sherlock said confidently. "Moriarty would have told us otherwise, it would be another jab in the ribs for us if we knew they were alone."

John was about to reply, when Detective Lestrade popped his head out of his office,

"We got him."

The men were instantly on their feet and following Lestrade back into his office. Lestrade spun his computer screen around to show them. It showed a mugshot of a balding man with huge muscles and tanned skin littered with tattoos. He looked in his mid-thirties.

"Antonio Pedro," Lestrade told them. "He emigrated here when he was four from Mexico and has been in trouble from the age of thirteen. Everything from petty thefts to attempted rape."

"Where does he live?"

"Three blocks away."

Molly's head was in Alex's lap. She had been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few hours. Alex kept both of her hands tightly within hers to make sure the woman didn't inure her leg further by scratching it in her sleep. It was getting worse every time Alex checked it.

Alex jumped as Molly squeezed her fingers lightly.

"What time is it?" she asked hoarsely.

Alex knew what she was really asking.

"Eight hours," she replied gently, stroking Molly's hair like she did when Alex was a little girl. "Not long now, Molly."

This time, Molly knew what _Alex _was really saying. But it didn't really matter which way it went now, not to Molly. She just wanted the pain to be over.

Alex rested her cheek atop Molly's hair, repeating, "Not long now."

* * *

><p>"Did you find he was doing with the laptop?" Sherlock asked Lestrade on the way to Antonio Pedro's flat.<p>

Lestrade shook his head, taking a left turn, "All that the history showed up was a whole load of nothing. Just normal dad stuff, you know. EBay Bratz collections, tickets to Arsenal games, budget holidays, that kind of thing. Nothing suspicious."

"So it all lies with him now," Sherlock looked up to the block of flats as they pulled up.

"46C," Lestrade told them.

It didn't take long to get up to his front door, just three flights of stairs. The lift had been broken in a gang fight. It just showed which area of London they were in.

Sherlock hammered on the door.

There was no answer.

Sherlock tried again, then looked to Lestrade.

"I can't bust down the door simply because he isn't in," Lestrade said apologetically. "Not without a warrant, which we don't have time for.

Sherlock glared at him and went to land another strong rap on the door, when he realised that the wood was splintered at the hinges. Just subtly. So subtle that even Sherlock had missed it at first. That was what immediately set him on edge. He gently curled his long fingers around the hinges and pushed ever-so-softly. He felt the door move and it fell into his arms. Someone had made it so that no one could get in when applying a lot of pressure, only when a localised, soft movement on the frame could it be opened.

That was clever, even by Sherlock's standards.

He held a finger to his lips as he looked at the other men and quietly laid the door against the wall. He then stepped into the flat, hand close to his holstered gun. Someone had broken in here recently. A pro.

The living room and kitchenette were empty, as was the bedroom. The place was deserted, but the entire property had been ransacked. Papers littered the floor, along with the insides of split cushions. The sofa had been overturned and ripped apart.

"There's no one here, Sherlock," John confirmed as he returned from checking the bathroom.

Sherlock held up his hand to silence him, "Can you smell that?"

It was faint, but there. Like the smell of vomit or a yogurt left out in the sun for too long. Sherlock followed his nose back to the bedroom. It was empty apart from the bed and wardrobe.

The wardrobe.

Already concluding what he was going to find, Sherlock shouted John and Lestrade over, wrapped his hand around the doorknob and twisted. The weight against it was too much for Sherlock to keep holding up, and the naked body of Antonio Pedro rolled onto his bedroom carpet.

"Jesus," John murmured.

He was in terrible condition. The man's arms and legs were scattered with cuts and bruises, both eyes swollen to the point of closure and nose so broken that it was bent completely inwards. Every inch of his skin was drenched with blood. It had dried and cracked so that it created a sort of webbed pattern across him. His fingernails were missing.

"He was tortured," Lestrade stated.

"But why would someone torture him? If we're right and he was helping Moriarty, what could he have done to warrant this?" John asked in confusion.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, just staring at the body.

"Unless his killer… they have the same idea as us and they came here for information," Sherlock looked back to Lestrade and John. "Maybe we're not the only ones looking for Alex and Molly."

Alex was sat on the floor now. Molly was still sleeping but was wriggling around that much in her delirious state that it was painful to sit beneath her. So Alex sat with her back against the leg of the tattered sofa, staring.

At first she had been looking at the numbers, trying to decipher them, but now she found herself just watching little dust particles glide around the room, illuminated by the thin light beneath the curtain. Her eyes were heavy, but she wouldn't sleep. She needed to be there for Molly.

The pathologist hadn't woken since they had spoken a couple of hours ago.

Five hours left.

Alex wondered if Molly was going to be there at the end of those five hours. Would Alex just be clinging to the corpse of her long-time friend when the time came? Selfishly, the thought of being alone scared her more than anything.

Even more than the thought that Sherlock might not be coming for them. Alex knew he would be trying. He would never abandon them, neither would Mycroft, John, or Lestrade.

"How long?" Molly croaked.

Alex didn't blink from her stare. Molly had been asking that question every twenty minutes or so. She wasn't conscious. Hallucinating. Nevertheless, Alex answered,

"Four hours and fifty seven minutes, Molls."

She didn't acknowledge her, she just asked the same question.

Alex gave the same reply.

Molly asked again.

Alex gave the same reply.

Until four hours and fifty seven minutes became three.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Guest, Guest, FlewandFlied, Guest, Diversdown, Guest,<strong> **Guest,** **emilybrock101, Abi Tandy, and rycbar15 for reviewing!**

**You're all brilliant people!**

**To deal with the added stress this week I wrote a short little Mollstrade oneshot if any of you ship that? If you do, feel free to check it out. It was just something I wrote when it was dark outside and I was around a bonfire. It was a pretty beautiful sight and inspiration kinda struck me.**

**Also, check out the prequel (new chapters coming soon) for oneshots of Alex growing up :)**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	92. My Bonnie

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello :) I'm currently in the process of editing previous chapters (nothing big so you don't need to re-read, unless you want to of course) just correcting grammar mistakes and changing some of the language etc. I'm going to also put titles for chapters so it should be easier to navigate around considering it's such a long story.**

**I should also be able to update maybe Wednesday or Thursday this week as well :)**

**This chapter was so hard to write. It usually takes me about five hours to write a chapter of this, but this has taken me ten hours with no breaks. I'm glad I've finally finished so I can pass out now!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex didn't blink from her stare. Molly had been asking that question every twenty minutes or so. She wasn't conscious. Hallucinating. Nevertheless, Alex answered,_

_"Four hours and fifty seven minutes, Molls."_

_She didn't acknowledge her, she just asked the same question._

_Alex gave the same reply._

_Molly asked again._

_Alex gave the same reply._

_Until four hours and fifty seven minutes became three._

Sherlock leant against the wall of Antonio Pedro's flat, his eyes tightly shut and left hand massaging his forehead. He hadn't spoken since Lestrade's team had arrived to tend with the body. John finished talking to Lestrade, shot Sherlock a worried look, then made his way over to stand next to him.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say 'are you okay?', and then shut it again. It was a stupid question. Of course he wasn't okay. They now had less than three hours. The realisation that it could well soon be too late was like a dagger in John, he couldn't imagine how Sherlock was feeling.

"There's still a chance," John settled on, but his voice wasn't hopeful.

Sherlock didn't open his eyes or move as he spoke, "A slim one."

"At least it's there," John pulled Sherlock's arm from where it was shielding his eyes and made him look at him. "They're alive, right now. They're just waiting for us."

Sherlock nodded, "And they'll be waiting until someone sticks a bullet in them."

John narrowed his eyes, "You're talking like you've given up."

Sherlock remained silent.

"You'd really give up on Molly?" John asked incredulously. "On your own _niece!"_

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock snapped. "There are _no more _leads. Do you want me to start putting up posters now? Tell me something, John, if you think you know what's best. Our only suspect is dead. Tell me where to go now."

"I – I…" John faltered.

Sherlock scoffed, "Exactly."

An uneasy silence fell over the pair. Sherlock ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. He pushed off the wall and exited through the broken front door. John frowned and followed him.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

Sherlock turned to face him as they walked down the corridor, "You're right. There's still a chance. I need you to talk to the Chechis again. I'll talk to Banks's family. They're they only hope we have right now. See if you can find anything at all remotely similar while you're talking to the Chechis as to what the Bankses said."

* * *

><p>Molly's skin was drenched. Alex had tried to wipe the sweat from her eyes, but it seemed to have manifested everywhere as she shivered. She was getting hotter by the minute. As Alex stroked her hair, Molly caught her wrist and held it in a weak grasp.<p>

"I feel… like… I'm… dying," she breathed.

"I know."

"I feel awful."

"It'll be over soon. Now all those times I said that when I was sick seems stupid," Alex managed to smile. "Remember when I had chicken pox?"

"Hmm."

"Sherlock drove me mad."

"I… had chicken… pox… when I was… four. My gran looked after… me… I couldn't sleep… I remember singing… My Bon-" Molly let out a strangled cry of pain, hands flying to her leg.

Alex caught them and held them tightly in her own, "No, come on."

"I can't!" Molly cried. "I need something to take my mind off it."

"_My Bonnie lies over the ocean,"_ Alex sang, albeit not very well. "_my Bonnie lies over the sea. My Bonnie lies over the ocean. Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me."_

_"Bring… back," _Molly whispered, tears falling down her face.

"_Bring back," _Alex sang quietly. _"Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me. To me. Last night as I lay on my pillow."_

_"Last night as I lay on my bed."_

_"Last night as I lay on my pillow."_

Molly's unfocussed eyes met Alex's, "_I dreamt that my Bonnie was dead."_

Alex looked away.

* * *

><p>Sherlock was on his phone during the cab ride over to the Banks residence. He had an album on his phone full of photos of Alex that his parents kept nagging him to send them. He hadn't really looked over it, but now, it seemed appropriate. Some he had gotten from his sister's laptop when she died, and those photos he hadn't seen before.<p>

There were ones of Alex as young as one, holding up a leaf from an artificial plant and frowning at it. She still had the same frown now, the way the corner of her mouth pulled to the side, left eyebrow dipped slightly further than the right, dimples only just visible. Her expressions hadn't changed at all.

Sherlock kept sliding his thumb through the photos, seemingly watching a slideshow of Alex growing up. He had to smile when he saw the one when she was three and had her full fringe. It constantly grew into her eyes so one day, she decided to take the crazy scissors and cut it off, leaving a zigzag pattern behind.

Finally, he got to the most recent ones, the latest being Alex on the morning of her birthday. She was sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a neatly wrapped present on her knee. She was laughing at something John said. It was a real laugh, the corners of her eyes crinkling and head tilted back. Though she wouldn't count herself as particularly eye-catching, Sherlock, through the eyes of a father, thought in that particular photograph, she looked beautiful.

Sherlock pursed his lips. She looked so much older. He hadn't noticed. She was just… Alex. She was sixteen now. But she looked even older than that. The way she carried herself, the way she would look at you. Like she knew everything you were thinking. Like she's been there all before.

Overcome with the memories of who he counted to be his child, Sherlock was about to lock his phone when it vibrated in his hand. He glanced down and his heart stopped for a moment. It was a text. From an unknown number.

He tapped on it. It was a voice recording. He played it.

His breath hitched as soon as he heard the sound of their voices. Molly and Alex's voices.

_"Oh blow the winds over the ocean_

_And blow the winds over the sea_

_Oh blow the winds over the ocean_

_And bring back my Bonnie to me."_

Their voices were thick, Molly's much weaker than Alex's. There was a sharp stabbing pain in Sherlock's chest as he heard how desperate they sounded. But it meant that they were alive.

The phone vibrated again, and a message appeared underneath.

**Not long now, Sherlock. That's your final clue. Two hours isn't long. I think I'll kill Molly first. I'll let Alex watch before killing her too. You never know, I might even drown her again – M xxx**

Just as he finished reading the message, his phone began to ring, the caller ID showing that it was John. He answered it.

_"Sherlock, I just got a text–"_

"I know. I did too."

_"It was Alex and Molly," _he heard John swallow. _"Anthea's just text me, apparently Mycroft got the same message. Is it a clue?"_

"Maybe. It's more likely that he's just messing with us. They're alive, though. That's one thing. Get back to Mr and Mrs Chechi. We need to figure this out. It doesn't sound like they have a whole lot of strength left."

_"We have two hours."_

The pain in John's voice was clear and stark as a cloudless sky.

Unable to reply, Sherlock ended the call as the cab stopped outside the Bankses house.

* * *

><p>In the end, Molly couldn't finish the song. She fell asleep after the third verse, leaving Alex to sing the last one alone, almost silently.<p>

_"The winds have blown over the ocean_

_The winds have blown over the sea_

_The winds have blown over the ocean_

_And brought back my Bonnie to me."_

Her voice cracked. My Bonnie had been one of her favourite nursery rhymes as a child. She remembered Mycroft singing it to her one night when she couldn't sleep. She was only very young. It was one of her earliest memories.

It had been one of her mother's favourites.

Severely dehydrated and terrified, the flashback came vividly and without warning.

_She was six. Her hair was unbrushed and hung limply over her shoulders as she sat on her bedroom window sill at her grandparents' house on the coast. It had been just three days after the passing of her mother, and Sherlock and Mycroft had brought Alex with them to their parents' house to grieve._

_Alex hadn't coped as well as they'd hoped. They'd expected her to be heartbroken and cry, but she didn't. She had on the night, but had been silent since. It seemed that she couldn't bear to be around them, and just hid in her bedroom._

_From her window, Alex could see the sea where it met the cliff. It seemed to always be sunny whenever she visited, but now, it was dull, grey, and overcast. The waves were quiet and respectful. Mourning._

_The silence too painful, little Alex began to sing the song she had sung with her mother so many times._

_"Oh blow the winds over the ocean,_

_Blow the winds over the sea,_

_Blow the winds over the ocean,_

_Oh bring back my Bonnie to me."_

_Tears began to drip silently from the corners of her red-rimmed eyes._

_"Bring back, bring back,_

_Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me, to me,_

_Bring back, bring back,_

_Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me."_

_Alex opened her mouth to sing the last verse, but the words caught in her throat. She pressed her flushed face against the window and stared out at the sea. She wished, and she wished, until her vision was just a blur._

_But the winds never brought back her mother to her –_

Alex was startled out of one of her worst childhood memories by the sound of a gunshot. Instinctively, she grabbed Molly's hand, the pathologist awoken too by the sound. It was distant, but had been the only sound they had heard since their abduction. Due to the level of which the caravan was soundproof, it meant that the gun had to have been close.

"What…?" Molly mumbled incoherently.

Alex waited for another shot, but it didn't come, "It means we have one hour left."

Molly sniffed, "They…not… coming."

"I know," Alex nodded, but Molly saw the steely glint in the girl's eye and the way her jaw was defiantly set.

"Alex…?" Molly groaned.

Alex didn't answer. She stood up and walked over to the numbers that stained the linoleum wood flooring.

"Whataya doin'?" Molly asked.

"The numbers. They have to mean something. I wouldn't carve them into my skin if they wouldn't lead us out of here, and I must have believed that they would. _I _put them there. I'm going to figure out what they mean," Alex told her determinedly.

"Y' dunno what they mean."

"I have to at least try."

She wasn't going to just sit there and wait to die. She had to do something. Though the numbers were permanently seared into her brain – and skin – Alex stared at them on the floor, trying to make any sense out of them.

5429252035512

Not a phone number, not an address, not a barcode – too many numbers – not anything that would be remarkably useful.

Time passed slowly, making Alex's head ache more than it ever had done before. It felt like someone was repeatedly punching her, giving her the worst beating of her life.

Finally, Alex screamed in frustration, throwing up her hands.

"I don't know! It doesn't make any sense at–" Alex stopped abruptly, looking at the numbers. A few seconds passed, "No… it can't be…"

"What?" Molly murmured, semi-conscious.

Alex's chest was tight as she drew apostrophes between the 4 and 2, the 9 and 2, the 0 and 3, the 5 and 5. Then full stops after the 5 and 1. Finally, speech marks after the two 2s.

Alex let out a silent breath, the corners of her lips tilted upwards in disbelief as she looked at the results.

54'29'25.2" 0'35'51.2"

"Molls," Alex said softly. "They're co-ordinates."

All at once, Alex remembered.

_Her head ached. That was the most prominent concern. Her thoughts were disjointed and jittery. Vision swimming, Alex sat up. It was only then that she became aware that she was moving. The road they were travelling on was rocky and uneven. There was a vague shape next to her, but Alex concentrated on the ones in front. She could make out the shape of their heads from her spot in the back of the van, looking through the little hatch, and that was all she needed to know that they weren't friendly._

_They were arguing over something. Alex couldn't hear what. She just stared at the little device stuck to the windscreen. A Satnav. It took a few moments for her sight to focus enough for her to make out what it said was the destination. It just gave the co-ordinates._

_54'29'25.2" N 0'35'51.2" W_

_Knowing that she would forget, Alex scoured the floor for something sharp. She found that something in the form of a rusty nail. She didn't feel as she took it to the back of her leg and began to drag it across her skin. The aftereffects of a drug, no doubt._

_She got to the last number when one of them spotted her. She was too late to process this in her sluggish mind-set, and an elbow connected with her head._

"Molly, this tells us exactly where we are," Alex beamed.

"We have… no way of t-telling Sherlock. Or knowing where… 'there'… is."

Alex's smile fell at that. Of course, they had no means of finding out where exactly in the country those coordinates were. It wasn't like she could just Google it –

"Wait, my phone!" Alex exclaimed, diving for it.

"You have… no internet," Molly pointed out.

Alex unlocked her phone quickly, "No, but I had the map app open before we went to the restaurant. The cabbie got lost. It should still be running."

Molly's eyes filled with something other than tears for the first time in 47 hours: hope.

Alex brought up the map and saw that the little blue pin was tacked on the restaurant they had gone to. As she scrolled on the map, the little icon in the corner displaying the co-ordinates changed. Grinning, Alex scrolled further up and up the country until the northern co-ordinates matched the ones she had written down. She then dragged the map left until the western co-ordinates matched.

Alex's face suddenly went blank.

"'Lex?" Molly asked, voice slurring a little.

Alex didn't take her eyes off the map. Where it was telling her they were.

"That's impossible."

* * *

><p>Sherlock found himself back in the Bankses living room. He had gone over everything again with Mrs Banks, but had found nothing new. He checked his watch, and then wished he hadn't. Fifty minutes. Just fifty.<p>

Sherlock interrupted Mrs Banks as she talked about her husband's friends. He leant forward so that their faces were close.

"Please, if you know _anything, _tell me," Sherlock pleaded. "I understand if you're trying to protect your husband's memory, but my friend and my niece are going to die in the next fifty minutes if I don't figure out where they are. And wherever they are, it has to do with your husband."

She looked him directly in the eye, "I have told you everything I can think of. I'm sorry, but we don't know anything more than you do here."

Sherlock sighed and stood up. He was wasting his time here. He gave a nod to Mrs Banks, who went to show him out. As they reached the door, little Alexis and her brother came barrelling into his legs, nearly making him stumble.

"Kids!" Mrs Banks admonished. "Be careful!"

"Sorry, socks are slippy on wood," Jordan apologised. "But we were just thinking–"

"Can we still go on holiday without Daddy?" Alexis interrupted impatiently.

Mrs Banks's face twisted, "I hadn't even thought of that. Go on upstairs, I'll talk to you both later."

"But Daddy was excited–"

"Holiday?" Sherlock asked, his heart suddenly beginning to thud heavily in his chest.

Alexis nodded enthusiastically, "Where Daddy used to live. Up North."

And just like that, Sherlock felt everything fit into place. The budget holiday on his computer history, Antonio Pedro was told to put it there, no doubt at a cheap price; Banks was from there, he wouldn't be able to resist. He scrambled for his pocket and retrieved his phone, holding out a hand to silence Mrs Banks when she was about to speak.

John answered immediately.

_"Have you got something?" _was his instant greeting.

"Maybe. Ask Chechi's parents where Khalid was taking them in a week."

Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently as he asked them.

_"Somewhere north, they can't remember exactly where. Why?"_

Sherlock turned his attention to the family in front of him. It seemed that he was beginning to scare Alexis, who had stuck to her mother's side. He ignored it.

"Where were you going on holiday?"

"Whitby," Mrs Banks answered. "We were going camping."

"Ask them if Whitby sounds familiar," Sherlock ordered John.

The line was silent for a moment before he responded.

_"Yes."_

Sherlock's eyes widened as he almost shouted, "Call Mycroft!"

* * *

><p>"What's it saying?" Molly asked.<p>

"That we're in the sea," Alex replied helplessly. "I-I must've copied the numbers down wrong."

Alex showed the screen to Molly, who frowned.

"Zoom in," she mumbled.

Alex pinched her fingers together, and the map zoomed in. Her eyes widened. They weren't in the sea. They were on the very, very edge of the land. Any further outland and they would be swimming.

"Molly… I think we're on a cliff edge."

But the woman's eyes were closed. Not half-closed as they had been before, fully closed. Worriedly, Alex held two fingers to Molly's neck. A pulse was faint, making Alex exhale in relief, then remember the situation and worry again. Her stomach knotted.

She checked the time on her phone.

Ten minutes, give or take, Alex thought. But it was actually only three.

Sherlock wasn't coming for them. They had to do something. Or rather, looking at Molly, _Alex _had to do something.

It was then that the reckless, idiotic, and doomed-to-fail idea took root in Alex's mind.

They were on the edge of a cliff. That meant that one side of the caravan had to be facing out onto the sea, with no land in front of it. That would mean no traps in front of it.

_Just a fifty foot drop onto rocks, _Alex thought cynically, but the idea wouldn't stop blooming.

It wasn't the side with the door. Moriarty would have had to station one of his snipers or VIEDs there with it being the most obvious route of escape. That left the front, back, and left side of the caravan. Most of the weight was at the front, so it would be too risky to place the caravan with that end facing the sea in case it became unbalanced and tumbled.

That only left the back and the left side.

Deductions couldn't help now. Everything now rode on luck.

Heads: left.

Tails: back.

"Molly," Alex shook her gently. "Heads or tails. Come on, you decide. Please. Please, Molly."

But Molly didn't wake. It was up to Alex. She had to make the decision. The decision that meant living or dying. And not just her, Molly too. Closing her eyes, Alex took a deep breath. She had to move now.

The back.

She slipped one arm under Molly's knees – mindful of her infected wound – and the other behind her shoulders. Molly's head rested on Alex's shoulder as the younger girl carried her to the tiny bathroom at the back of the caravan.

Alex's muscles sighed with relief when Alex laid Molly on the floor in the bathroom, below the plastic sink. Just above the sink was the window, the light blocked by the curtains. If Alex was right, the ocean was out there. No guns, no bullets, just air and water. If she wasn't, she would be dead before she knew what was happening anyway.

Making sure that Molly was safely out of the way of the window, Alex grasped the fabric of the curtains, inhaled deeply, and pulled them apart.

Her eyes snapped shut and her whole body braced for the sound of smashing plastic and impact of a bullet, but it didn't come. It was silent.

Slowly, Alex allowed her eyes to open to the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. The sea. Light. The sky. The sun. The outside world. It was cloudy, but bright.

With an unbelieving giggle, Alex squashed her face against the window and looked down. There was no land beneath them, just a sheer drop down into the sea. It looked like it was high tide, too. This was their chance. If they were to survive, this would be the _only _chance. Even though surviving the fall would be unlikely, surviving if they stayed here was impossible.

Just then, Alex heard the voice. A child's voice. It sounded familiar. It was coming from the main part of the caravan. Frowning, Alex opened the door and saw a sliver of artificial light coming from the back wall and shining down onto the counter tops. It was the small TV. Alex had assumed that it was broken, but now it was playing a recording. As Alex reached it, she realised whom the voice belonged to.

Her.

The video showed a four year-old Alex grinning at the camera. The voice behind the camera spoke.

"_Come on, sing," _her mother laughed.

Little Alex giggled and shook her nervously.

_"Come on, your singing voice can't be any worse than Uncle Mycroft's."_

_"Okay," _Alex relented with a cute smile. _"10 green bottles sitting on the wall,_

_10 green bottles hanging on the wall,_

_And if 1 green bottle should accidentally fall,_

_There'll be 9 green bottles sitting on the wall."_

Her mother sang the next part, _"9 green bottles hanging on the wall,_

_9 green bottles hanging on the wall,_

_And if 1 green bottle should accidentally fall,_

_There'll be 8 green bottles hanging on the wall."_

It was then that present-Alex realised that it was a countdown. Her younger self was counting down to older self's death. They were running out of time.

Alex tore her eyes from the screen and looked at Molly's limp hand poking out from behind the bathroom door. Just that sight made Alex mind up. She drowned out the sound of her younger self as she retreated to the bathroom.

They were on seven green bottles now.

Alex lifted Molly back into her arms, shaking as she did so.

Six green bottles.

Shifting Molly's weight onto her left shoulder, Alex fiddled with the latch on the window and pushed it open as quietly as she could.

Five green bottles.

Molly groaned and rolled in Alex's arms.

"Lex," she slurred.

Four green bottles.

"Hold on, Molly. Okay? Hold onto me as tightly as you can," Alex told her, water gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Don't let go of me. Can you do that?"

Three green bottles.

Molly nodded as Alex swung one leg over the window, followed by the other, so that she was perched dangerously on the ledge. All that stood below her was air. Seeing the waves crash onto the rock face at the bottom made Alex's head swim and muscles spasm.

Two green bottles.

"Please hold on Molly," Alex pleaded desperately, holding her as close to her body as possible.

One green bottle.

It was time. Alex barely had time to register the ear-splitting boom and the rush of heat before she pushed off from the window, both of them plummeting down into the water below.

* * *

><p><em>My Bonnie lies over the ocean,<em>

_My Bonnie lies over the sea,_

_My Bonnie lies over the ocean,_

_Oh bring back my Bonnie to me._

* * *

><p><strong>If you are confused as to how all of the clues led to this, all shall be explained in the next chapter, don't worry :)<strong>

**Just some clarifications:**

**1. Ten Green Bottles is a British counting game that counts down from ten bottles being on a wall down to none. Most children here are taught that in nursery.**

**2. Whitby is a seaside town in North Yorkshire (and a place that is very close to my heart).**

**3. My Bonnie is a Scottish folk song that all of my family love and that I grew up with. If you look up the lyrics, they're extremely sad and beautiful.**

**If you have any more questions, just PM me :)**

**HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, rycbar15, AddieHolmes, OnceUponADeduction, and shnuffleluv for reviewing!**

**You guys are the best, as always ;D Replies shall be sent to you now.**

**Now I'm going to try and finish the next chapter of Little Innocent - I hope this doesn't take as long as this one did!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	93. Deep End

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I would have updated this yesterday but this chapter is slightly longer than others and has taken a lot of effort to write so it has taken a little longer to do. I'm sure you'll understand :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Molly nodded as Alex swung one leg over the window, followed by the other, so that she was perched dangerously on the ledge. All that stood below her was air. Seeing the waves crash onto the rocks at the bottom made Alex's head swim and muscles spasm._

_Two green bottles._

_"Please hold on Molly," Alex pleaded desperately, holding her as close to her body as possible._

_One green bottle._

_It was time. Alex barely had time to register the ear-splitting boom and the rush of heat before she pushed off from the window, both of them plummeting down into the water below._

Shock immediately flooded through Alex's veins the moment she hit the water. Her limbs locked up, mind going numb, fear surging through her. She was dimly aware that she was sinking. She opened her eyes, squinting as the saltwater stung. The light. Grey and white. But it was dancing above her, the water pushing her further and further down.

Something on her chest was stinging. She ignored it. Her skin was so cold, but her blood was boiling with adrenaline and terror.

Her lungs ached. She longed to take a breath.

Her hair was dispersed in strands, a few black curls floating in front of her vision as she stared up at the surface.

Everything was so silent. It made her tired. She was so tired. It seemed that her life was beginning to take its toll. Maybe it would be better to just let her eyes close. Maybe it would be better to die now. It wouldn't really be dying. Just sleeping. No one died down here… it was too serene… everyone just slept.

She couldn't remember the exact moment she closed her eyes. The exact moment when three tiny bubbles escaped from her mouth. The exact moment she went to sleep.

But she remembered the person. She remembered the light tinging her closed eyelids being blocked, the darkness making her suddenly scared. It was as if it was a half-remembered dream. The feeling of a hand curling around her wrist. The feeling of flying upwards. The light bursting in her eyes like hundreds of sparklers. The wind slicing her wet face. Huge lungfuls of air. Hands holding hers onto rock. Keeping her up.

Violent coughing tore at her throat. She groaned and tried to see who was holding her, but the moment she opened her eyes, the hands holding her up disappeared, and she slipped off the rock and back into the water. However, now with oxygen back in her lungs, she was soon aware of her situation and dived back onto the rocks at the foot of the cliff. The harsh stone scraped at her skin as she clung on.

"Hey!" Alex tried to shout, but her voice sounded like static on an old radio.

But no one replied. Where was her saviour?

She looked around. The jut of the cliff restricted her view of the beach, but she knew it was about half a mile away from what she saw from the top of the cliff. There was no way she could swim that alone…

That was when she remembered, like someone ramming a knife into her stomach.

Molly.

"Molly!" Alex shouted, again raspy. "MOLLY!"

She scanned the surface of the water frantically, eyes wide.

"MOLLY! WHERE ARE YOU!?"

Alex let out a desperate whine, praying to whoever was listening for the woman to be okay.

"MOLLS?"

Taking a deep breath, Alex let go of the rock and went under the water. Her eyes had become somewhat acclimatised to the saltwater, and she was able to make out just vague outlines. Most were just rocks jutting up from the seabed that she had been lucky enough to avoid when she fell. She just hoped Molly had been as lucky.

Head pounding with lack of oxygen, Alex resurfaced, then quickly ducked back under. Every second that passed was an odd stacked against Molly's survival.

Alex searched desperately through the gloom, and finally, made out the image of what she first thought to be a log, then realised –

It was Molly. She wasn't moving. She wasn't fighting. She was just sinking.

With as much energy as she could muster, Alex swam towards her, the pain in her neck now forgotten. Alex wrapped an arm around her waist and struggled to the surface.

They broke the surface just near the rocks that Alex had been pulled onto, and Alex hoisted Molly up so that she was lying across the collection of rocks, completely out of the water. Not enough room for two, Alex's bottom half remained submerged.

She reached out beneath Molly's neck, waiting for a pulse. But couldn't find one.

"Molly," Alex said tremulously, trying to hold it together and not scream as she spat seawater from her mouth. "Come on, we're safe now. We made it."

She looked up to the cliff edge, where a cloud of black smoke was circling.

"We need to go before he realises we got out."

Molly's eyes remained closed, face blank. A few droplets of water ran down the smooth arc of her face.

Alex put a hand on her cheek. A pattern of blood ran along her hairline.

"Molly," Alex was crying now, not that it showed through the black streaks of running mascara and already sodden face. "Don't go. Just hold on."

Desperate, Alex searched wildly for the person who had pulled her out, "PLEASE! COME BACK! I-IT'S MY FRIEND! PLEASE! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!"

It was only then, whilst straining her ears for any indication that anyone had heard her, that she heard it. An engine. The sound of tumbling water not in time with the systematic crashing of the waves. A flash of orange. A lifeboat.

"OVER HERE!" Alex screamed. "HELP! HELP!"

She let go of the rock to wave her arms, meaning that she kept bobbing under the water.

One of the people on the boat in a high-vis jacket waved back to her, and it turned towards them. Alex grasped Molly's limp hand,

"Hold on, Molly. Someone's here. We're gonna be okay," Alex assured her tearfully. "We'll be okay."

The lifeboat stopped alongside them, two men hopping down into the water for Molly, and another holding out his hand for Alex to pull herself onto the boat with.

"Are you Alessandra Holmes and Molly Hooper?" the man asked as he pulled her on board.

Alex, shivering too violently to speak any longer, nodded, watching as Molly was carried on and taken into the cabin, out of view of Alex.

She jumped as she felt a blanket be wrapped around her shoulders.

"I'm f-f-fine," Alex stuttered. "Molly… she… is she gonna be okay? Sh-she's got blood poisoning, I think. Her leg's infected, anyway. You need to d-do something with that. She's lost blood. A-and she hasn't r-really been conscious. In the water… she – I tried to f-find a pulse but… she… sh-she–"

"Calm down, we know what we're doing," the man gave her a sympathetic grimace, "We're doing everything we can. We're heading back to the dock now and there are ambulance crews waiting there, along with your family."

"My family?" Alex frowned. "No, th-they're in London."

"Not anymore. They flew in just ten minutes ago. Have half the coast guard looking for you two. Now do you feel any pain?"

Alex shook her head distractedly, thinking of her family. She wasn't sure she was ready to see them. They would be as terrified as she was now, and she didn't think she would be able to cope with their fussing and questions. But that was selfish, and she quickly banished the thought.

"That could be because you're in shock," he said. "Try very hard to concentrate and tell me even if you feel a slight sting anywhere."

Alex knew her shoulder and neck were dully hurting but shook her head. It was just a graze, nothing serious.

"We're both dehydrated," she said. "Molly and I… she'll need–"

"It's okay, we're giving her fluids right now. You'll need some as well."

"I'll wait," Alex said, sitting down on the corner of the boat and wrapping the blanket firmly around herself. "Concentrate on Molly."

"I don't know how you survived that," the man said honestly, rubbing the back of his bald head. "That fall should have killed someone in your condition."

"Someone pulled me out," Alex said. "I don't know who. I looked around but they must've gone. I was drowning… they saved me. And Molly."

"We have crews scouring every inch of the coastline. If they saw anyone, they would have radioed us. That's how we found you both. No one else was here apart from you and Miss Hooper."

Alex's brow furrowed, "You're sure?"

He nodded.

"Then you must be mistaken. Someone was there. They saved our lives."

"Well, we'll keep looking for you, you'll be getting off soon."

Alex noticed that they had circled the bay and were just coming into the dock, where a haze of blue lights were waiting. She craned her neck, but couldn't see Sherlock, Mycroft, or John. She turned her attention back to the man.

"Tell it to me straight," she said firmly. "M-my friend. Is she dead?"

"I think perhaps you should wait for your family to–"

"No. Tell me."

The man sighed and stood up, walking over to the cabin and knocking on the glass window. Alex watched as he mouthed something to the person in there, then waited for a response. The cabin door opened and one of the men that had taken Molly from the rocks appeared. He glanced quickly at Alex and angled his head away from her as he spoke to the other man.

The exchange went on for little over a minute, in which time Alex felt panic growing and growing inside her. Molly couldn't be dead, right? Things like that didn't happen to people like her. She dismissed that statement as soon as she thought it. It didn't matter who you are, bad things can happen to anyone. If Alex had learnt anything from her life, it was that.

The man came over and sat beside her as the boat came to a stop and several other crew members moored it up.

"Miss Hooper is alive–"

Alex's eyes lit up.

"And we've managed to stabilize her. It's not as bad as it first looked, but certainly not what you would count as good. The saltwater seemed to have helped. We have an ambulance crew that are going to take her directly to James Cook hospital. She'll be in the best hands."

Alex nodded, taking a breath to calm herself. Molly was going to recover. She was sure of it.

"Meanwhile," he continued. "You need to be checked over by a paramedic. I can't see any serious damage but you'll definitely need fluids and probably a few stitches in places."

Again, Alex nodded as he helped over the side of the boat and onto the concrete path of the marina. Almost immediately, the swarms of blue lights she had seen as they had just been coming in, convened around her.

She stepped out of the way as they headed towards where Molly was laid inside the cabin. Alex pulled the blanket tighter around herself, shivering. Everything was so loud. The crackling of the static on the numerous people's radios. The sirens. The grave chattering of onlookers. The crunch of stones under her bare feet. It almost made Alex wish somewhat sadistically that she was still underwater instead of stood helplessly on the cobbles as Molly battled for her life.

She looked around for any familiar faces, but found none. Everyone was a stranger. She didn't know what to do. She needed someone to hold her, tell her everything was going to be alright. She needed her family.

Her arms hung loosely by her side, brushing against the torn dress that now only reached halfway up her thigh, showing half of the numbers she had cut into herself. The numbers that had saved her life. The straps of her dress were also torn and the left side bloody from the wound on her collarbone. That, and given her even-paler-than-usual face, made her look like, in her opinion, an extra from the Walking Dead.

The man from the lifeboat must have seen her looking lost as he came over and gave her a smile.

"Your family are on the clifftop where the fire is. There's an officer from Scotland Yard coming down, though. A family friend?"

"Lestrade," Alex said.

"Here he is now, I think," he pointed to the newest police car to arrive.

Sure enough, a second after parking up, the passenger-side door opened and Lestrade climbed out. He looked around wildly for a moment before he spotted Alex, and came running over. The coastguard worker gave her a final smile and left.

As soon as Lestrade got to her, he pulled her into a hug. Alex was more than content to return it, burying her face in his shoulder.

"You're not hurt?" he asked, pulling away and holding her by the shoulders.

She shook her head, "No, but Molly… she..."

"It's okay, they've been keeping us informed," Lestrade said, voice warbling just a little. "There's still a chance that she's going to pull through, so we just have to hold on to that. Okay?"

Alex nodded, blinking away the tears in her eyes, "Where are the others?"

Lestrade's face darkened marginally, "They're sorting something out."

Alex frowned his tone, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder. "All that matters is you're okay, and Molly will _be _okay."

"You should be with her," Alex said, noticing the lingering glances he kept giving the ambulance she had been moved to. After all, they had been friends for years.

He shook his head, "I'm not leaving you on your own in this chaos."

"I'll be fine," she insisted.

In the end, they settled for Lestrade waiting for John to meet them, then going off to be with Molly as they took her to hospital. John arrived in ten minutes, and the first thing he did was exactly the same as Lestrade.

"I'm okay," Alex said into John's jumper.

He let go and gave her a stern look, "No, you're not. You're in shock. Why haven't any paramedics had a look at you yet?"

"Because I'm not hurt. Molly is. She needs all the help she can get."

"There's more than one ambulance. Come on," he said, trying to pull her towards the gathering of vehicles.

"N-no. I just want to go home, John," she pleaded. "I promise there's nothing worse than a graze on me. Let's just deal with it at can get Molly moved to a private hospital back home so she can be with her family and we can just forget about all of this."

"You're dehydrated–"

"Then I'll drink plenty water."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Then I'll do whatever you want."

"It's not a case of–"

"Please, John!" she finally shouted, wrapping her arms around herself and finishing much more pathetically. "I just want to go home."

His eyes softened, "...You can tell you've grown up around Sherlock," he muttered. "… Fine, if that's what you want. But I think your health is in danger, I'm taking you straight to a hospital. Got it?"

"Got it. Thank you."

"Go and wait in the car over there. I'll be back with more blankets. Oh," he rummaged in his pockets and pulled out his phone. "Call Sherlock. He and Mycroft want to speak to you."

Alex nodded and took the phone, dialling Sherlock's number as she walked over to the car and climbed in the backseat. She put her legs up across the seats and rested her back against the car door.

_"John? What's happening over there?" _Sherlock snapped irritably.

Alex beamed at the sound of his voice, "It's me."

_"Alex! Are you okay? Where are you?"_

"I'm completely fine," she lied. "I'm just in the back of the car John drove down here."

_"I'm so sorry we aren't there."_

"What's going on, Sherlock?" she asked, fake smile dropping.

_"We're just sorting something out, nothing to worry about," _his tone suggested otherwise. _"Just stay in John's sight, okay?"_

Alex nodded, face pulled into one of confusion as John returned with some extra blankets for her and sat in the front seat.

"Yeah, no problem, he's right here."

_"Don't leave the car."_

"I won't."

_"Promise me."_

"I promise."

_"I'm completely serious here, Alex."_

"I-I know, I am too."

_"Don't go for fresh air or anything. Just stay where you are."_

Getting a little aggravated now, Alex replied snippily, "Yes. I said I would. But in return, you have to tell me what's going on."

She heard Sherlock give a heavy sigh, then answer in a whisper, _"We're just trying to protect you. You have to trust us. We're trying to keep you safe."_

"From who? Moriarty? Is that who you're with? Sherlock, just leave it. It'll just cause more problems."

_"I'm not with Moriarty."_

"Then _who?" _Alex burst out in frustration.

_"Put John on."_

"No, not until you tell me–"

_"Alex, don't mess with things you don't understand."_

"Don't have a go at me! In case you haven't noticed, I almost just died _again. _I have a right to know what's going on here!"

_"Alessandra, give the phone to John _now."

Alex scowled and handed the mobile through the gap in the headrests to John. He took it and left the car as he spoke. She just got the tail end of his opening sentence.

"She's fragile at the moment."

That sentence made her want, for the first time in her life, want to punch him. Hard. If all of her past experiences had told her anything, it was that she was _not _fragile. Moriarty was not the one who made her fragile, he made her stronger. More determined. More resourceful. More fearless. Thought, that one wasn't true. She wasn't fearless. She had been terrified. Scared out of her mind. She had cried and shook like a small child.

Alex bowed her head at her thoughts, reaching out to hold the headrest for support. How could she think like that? How could she think that _Moriarty _of all people was the one to be commended for making her stronger? Yes, undoubtedly, all that he put her through had toughened her up, but that was her choice. She could have sat down and given up the moment he had walked into her life, but she hadn't. It was Alex herself who had decided to fight.

She winced. It seemed that stretching her arms out had caused the wound on her shoulder to reopen. The man from the lifeboat had been right, the shock was beginning to wear off, and the pain was starting to set in. Everywhere.

Alex put a hand below her collarbone and groaned a little. Judging from the amount of blood beginning to seep through the gaps between her fingers, she needed stitches. With a huff, she opened the car door and began to make her way over to the nearest paramedic, motioning to John that she was okay when he looked over in concern – still talking to Sherlock with a grave expression.

Alex tapped the paramedic on the shoulder.

"Hi, can someone look at my shoulder?" she asked, surprising herself by how meek she sounded.

The woman nodded, "Of course, come with me."

She led Alex over to one of the ambulances and opened the double doors in the back.

"Bill, you have a patient," the woman called in, and left.

Alex hovered awkwardly. 'Bill' was hunched over in the corner facing away from her, rifling through some drawers.

"Shut the doors," he said in a deep voice.

Alex frowned, but slowly did as he said, making sure to keep a safe distance away. She didn't like this already.

"You know, I think it's fine," she tried. "I'll just go back to my car."

"Stay," he kept his back turned, something about his tone indicating that he was using a fake voice. "Now, Alex. Don't shout. Don't scream. Have you got that?"

Alex kept her eyes trained on him as her heart rate increased. She clenched her knuckles.

"How do you know my name?" she asked in a deadly calm voice.

"Promise to keep quiet?"

"Promise," Alex said non-committedly.

He slowly stood… and turned to face her.

Alex's jaw went slack, along with her fists.

"William?"

He smirked back at her, "Now who looks like hell."

She gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, "What're you…? You're supposed to be out of the country! What are you doing here? He's gonna find you. Are you mad?"

He shrugged, "I suppose that's debateable. Now sit on the gurney."

Alex realised he had a cotton swab in his hand.

"You're not actually going to treat me?"

He pretended to look offended, "I've done a pretty good job of patching myself up over the years. I promise to avoid unnecessary scarring. Besides, if you come out of here looking just as bad as when you came in, it might look the teeniest bit suspicious. Now sit down."

With a shake of her head, she did.

He pulled the strap of her dress down a little and began to dab at the cut there. The disinfectant make Alex flinch.

"Yeah, it doesn't feel fantastic," William said.

"So you're just here to be my personal nurse?"

"Pretty much."

"No, seriously, why are you here, William?" Alex asked as he threw the bloodied cotton bud away and took out the surgical needle and thread from one of the cabinets.

He knelt down, "Brace yourself."

"I can deal with a – ow!" Alex glared at him in outrage. "That hurt!"

"I don't really have time for anaesthetic so you'll just have to deal with it. You'll be used to a certain amount of pain now anyway," he brushed off.

"Still doesn't make it pleasant," Alex grumbled, wincing as he pulled the needle through her skin again. "So going back to my question…"

He exhaled, pulling the thread through, "I heard you were in trouble. I wanted to help."

"Why?"

"Don't you remember the whole pact we made?"

"That was a one-deal contract," Alex said. "We were both clear on that. Coming here was ridiculously stupid."

He shrugged, "I've done stupider things in my life. Anyway, I wanted to help. You're a friend. I don't have many of those."

"How did you know I was in trouble in the first place?"

"It was your birthday, of course he was going to do something. I've been watching out for you for a while now."

Alex inspected the dried blood in the creases of her fingers, as she said quietly, "And why do I have a feeling that this isn't about our pact and is for the same reason you helped me last year, and the reason that you say I'm the only person you trust."

His hands stilled as he smiled slightly, "And what reason is that?"

"I don't know because you won't tell me," she said imploringly.

William finished up the last stitch, cut off the thread and placed the needle in the bin beneath the gurney.

"You have enough on your mind right now."

"When do I not?" she said lightly.

"You know, I fully expected not to make contact with you today. I thought you would be with your uncles. Where are they?" William asked curiously.

Alex shook her head, "I don't know. I assume they're on the clifftop. John said that they were just sorting something out, but the way Sherlock was speaking suggested that it was some_one _they were sorting out."

William looked thoughtful for a moment, then threw his head back and let out a bark-like laugh.

"What's wrong with you?" Alex raised an eyebrow.

"No, nothing," he grinned. "Just I think I have an inkling as to who it is your uncles are with."

"Who?" Alex demanded.

"Moran."

Alex's eyes widened, "He's here?"

"Apparently he was just as excited about this as Moriarty was. According to my sources, that is," he added mysteriously. "It seems he has a personal vendetta against you."

"Can't think why," Alex said with a faint smile. "You'd think after a year, he'd let it go."

"He's been hanging around waiting for them to drag out your bodies," William said. "I spotted him a couple of times, but he didn't see me. He wasn't exactly being subtle. I bet that's who Sherlock and Mycroft are with. Probably interrogating him."

"After what I told them about him, I won't be surprised if they kill him. Sherlock certainly sounded like he wanted to kill someone."

William tilted his head to the side, "Everything okay in your family at the moment?"

"Fine," Alex replied stiffly.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Alex snapped.

William sighed, taking off his surgical gloves. He threw them in the bin and knelt in front of her, so that he was looking up, "Listen to me, I know how easy it is to push the people that love you the most away at a time like this. You just want to deal with it yourself, you don't want people fussing over you. I was exactly like you when I was your age. I've been watching, Alex, and there is no one who loves you more than your family, as unconventional as their methods of showing it are. This is as hard for them as it is for you."

"I'm fine," Alex whispered, but without conviction.

William shook his head, "You aren't. You smile but you don't mean it. You're worried about your friend but there's nothing you can do now. You're worried about how your family is going to react when they see you. You're worried about _you're _going to react when you see _them. _Don't push them away, Alex. Don't make the mistakes I did."

Unable to speak, Alex stared at the floor of the ambulance. Everything he had just said had been completely true. She had been trying not to think about Molly. Like he said, there was nothing she could do for her now. But mostly she was worried about Sherlock and Mycroft. Last year, they had talked about her moving somewhere safer. Somewhere where she wouldn't be in constant danger. She had managed to convince them otherwise, but what about now?

"I don't want to have to leave," Alex mumbled, gritting her teeth together. "If they see me like this, what he's done to me, what he's done to Molly… I just, they'll think leaving is what's best for me. Going to live with my grandparents. But I don't want that."

"Talk to them," William said. "They're here now."

Alex looked down the centre of the ambulance to the windscreen, where, sure enough, a black car was pulling up on the curb.

"If you ever need help, I won't be far away," William said, helping her to her feet.

"Well, if you're not far away from _me, _I'm not going to be far away from _you. _Like you said, we're friends. And I owe you again, now. Anytime you need anything," Alex said sincerely.

William gave her a half-smile, "Go on."

She nodded and opened the ambulance doors. She stepped out and was about to walk away when a thought struck her.

"Hey, William?"

"Hmm?"

"Was it you?"

"Was me that what?"

"That pulled me out of the water? Was it you who saved me?"

William frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"When I jumped, I almost drowned. I was falling and then someone pulled me up and dragged me to the rocks. They saved my life, but the lifeguards and police haven't found who it was. If it wasn't you… who was it?" Alex asked.

William's face turned from curious, to furious in the space of seconds. His entire face seemed to darken.

"Go to Sherlock and Mycroft."

Alex regarded him closely, "You know who it was..."

"No. Just go, Alex. Talk to your family. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon."

Before Alex could reply, William had closed the doors, leaving her to step back out onto the gravel with her shoeless feet. Alex was about to go back to the car, when a voice called her name. She spun around to see Sherlock stood directly opposite her.

Suddenly, all thoughts of William and hands grasping in the darkness and bleeding wounds and flames and falling completely faded as Alex walked slowly towards him, stopping when they were only inches apart.

He was breathing heavily, seemingly unsure of what to say. So was Alex. So she did what she only felt was natural and wrapped her arms around his neck. He embraced her back, resting his chin on the top of her head. He was so warm, his coat comforting Alex's bare arms.

She felt a hand on her back that she knew to be Mycroft's, and looked over Sherlock's shoulder to see John smiling softly at her. She smiled back, a proper smile, then closed her eyes and hid her face in Sherlock's shoulder.

Even a year on, it seemed that Alex always found her way back home.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, rycbar15, Diversdown, FlewandFlied, AddieHolmes, emilybrock101, and Ma13, FAndomlifeCRazy101 for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies shall be sent to you soon :)**

**Check out the prequel, chapter 5 up now!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	94. Unwelcome Surprises

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry about not updating last week, you should know by now how temperamental my internet access is! Again, to make up for it, this chapter is a double-chapter and is probably the longest one I have done so far :) The next update may be a couple of days late as I have a lot of competition deadlines to make. The next chapter will most likely be on Tuesday or Wednesday :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_He was breathing heavily, seemingly unsure of what to say. So was Alex. So she did what she only felt was natural and wrapped her arms around his neck. He embraced her back, resting his chin on the top of her head. He was so warm, his coat comforting Alex's bare arms._

_She felt a hand on her back that she knew to be Mycroft's, and looked over Sherlock's shoulder to see John smiling softly at her. She smiled back, a proper smile, then closed her eyes and hid her face in Sherlock's shoulder._

_Even a year on, it seemed that Alex always found her way home._

The helicopter ride back home was a blur. It seemed that Alex had just climbed in when it was time to get out again. Exhaustion had caught up with her apparently, as she had slept the entire way there, and then the car ride back to Baker Street.

Sherlock had initially carried her up to her bed that night, but she had awoken with a start as soon as he left, and decided to take refuge on the sofa. Being up a floor, her bedroom was too out of the way for Alex's liking. It always had the feeling that someone else was there, even more so tonight. Perhaps it was just Alex's emotions running high from the lingering adrenaline, but either way, the feeling vanished as soon as she was in the living room.

John had gone to bed, and Sherlock was also surprisingly asleep, having pulled his armchair to the door. No doubt so that he would hear if she shouted him. He was easy to tiptoe past.

Only then, curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled up to her chin and Sherlock by the only entrance, could Alex completely relax and sleep again.

* * *

><p>"You were with Moran, weren't you?" Alex asked suddenly, her voice being the only thing to have disturbed the soft beeping of Molly's heart monitor since they arrived. Though she had been moved overnight to the most expensive, private healthcare centre available, apparently turning the beeping down in volume wasn't an option.<p>

Sherlock jolted a little at the sound of Alex's voice. She hadn't spoken much since they had got there. In fact, she hadn't spoken much since yesterday.

"Hmm?"

"Moran," Alex repeated, tone blank but firm. "You were with him on the clifftop."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, "And who told you that?"

Alex didn't miss a beat as she lied, "A guess,"

Sherlock glanced away from her, focussing instead on the cannula in the back of Molly's pale hand.

"You can tell me, you know," Alex said. "I'm not made of glass. I know what he's done to people, me included. I can handle the sound of his name."

"Yes," Sherlock said, meeting her eye now. "He was waiting for us."

Alex nodded, expressionless, "Was Moriarty there?"

"No."

"What did you talk about?"

"You. Molly," Sherlock answered cagily.

Alex waited for him to elaborate and when he didn't, she urged him on with an impatient hand.

He sighed and continued, "He was just taunting us."

"And what did this taunting entail? Molly's leg? I'm guessing that was his handiwork?"

Sherlock pursed his lips and Alex watched his eyes trail to the bulge under the sheets around Molly's leg. She knew he blamed himself for what happened.

"She was unconscious," Sherlock said. "She didn't pose any sort of threat to him, he did it purely for his own amusement."

"He's a twisted bastard," Alex agreed, knowing then just how much the situation was weighing on her uncle as he didn't reprimand her for her language.

"He's in custody," Sherlock stated.

Alex jolted, surprised, "Really? Just like that?"

Sherlock nodded, "He handed himself in up on the clifftop."

Alex took a breath, shifting in her seat, "You know there's some ulterior motive to this, right?"

"Of course, I'm not an idiot."

"I never said you were," Alex replied calmly. "So that's why Mycroft hasn't been round this morning. I was beginning to think he was angry at one of us for some reason."

Sherlock shook his head, "He's busy with Moran. He's proving… difficult during interrogations."

Alex noted the clenching of Sherlock's fists, his knuckles getting slowly whiter and whiter. She suddenly understood.

"He's been talking about me," Alex said, nodding in comprehension. "What's he been saying that's got you so worked up? The knife incident?"

Sherlock's eyes flickered to Alex's waist, where her faded scar laid concealed under layers of clothing. But there was something else.

"Sherlock, what's wrong? What's he said?" Alex asked worriedly.

Sherlock sighed, "He said you'd be…"

"I'd be…?"

Sherlock shook his head, "It doesn't matter."

"It does. It's bothering you, so it does. Tell me," Alex said, suddenly feeling like there had been a role reversal.

"…He told us that after what you'd been through last year and yesterday and everything else in-between, that you'd be…" he trailed off again, looking frustrated with himself.

"Broken?" Alex guessed softly. "And he told you and Mycroft that it was your faults?"

Alex took his silence as a yes.

It was Alex's turn to sigh, "Well I don't need to tell you that he was just trying to rile you up, you're clever enough to work that out on your own. And I'm fine," Alex shrugged with a slight, off-handed smile, joking, "It takes more than that to break a Holmes. You know that."

But Sherlock didn't smile, "That's the problem."

Alex's own smile dropped slowly, "What do you mean?"

"You should be crying, shaking, refusing to leave the house, locked up in your bedroom, not sleeping, not eating, having nightmares… but you're fine."

"Why's that a bad thing?" Alex asked, completely bemused. "Would you _rather _me be like that?"

"Don't be stupid. It's just that the fact that you aren't traumatised or upset shows that you've become acclimatised to all of this," Sherlock hung his head in shame, focussing again on Molly. "And you shouldn't be. _No one _should ever be, especially not someone as young as you."

"I thought being strong would be a good thing," Alex said.

"Someone has to be weakened for them to become stronger. I wasn't there to stop you from being weakened in the first place."

Alex licked her lips, suddenly feeling very desperate, "But that's in the past, Sherlock. It's over with. Like when Moran stabbed me. Yes, it was awful and painful, but I'm fine now, the scar doesn't hurt. I've moved on. You should too."

Sherlock didn't reply.

"This might be the end of it anyway," Alex added after a few moments of silence. "Maybe by my next birthday he'll be gone."

"You think that?" Sherlock asked sceptically.

Alex shrugged, "A lot of good can happen in a year."

"So can a lot of bad," Sherlock countered, then looked down at his watch and winced.

"You got to be somewhere?"

"It can wait," Sherlock decided.

"No, go," Alex insisted. "I'll be okay here with Molly. It's a closed ward anyway, no one apart from nurses and doctors can get in without the police's permission."

"Considering we have to help the police do their jobs every day, that doesn't fill me with a lot of confidence," Sherlock deadpanned.

Alex laughed, "Go on, you nutter. It's not like I'm going anywhere anytime soon."

"You're one hundred percent correct on that one," Sherlock said, getting to his feet. "Text me if there are any developments."

"I will," Alex assured him.

He nodded and crossed the room, opening the door.

"Sherlock."

He turned back.

"Don't think about what Moran said," Alex told him. "He's a goldfish."

Sherlock smiled softly, "Still using that insult, I see."

Alex shrugged, "It was the first one I learnt. Anyway, get going wherever you need to be."

Sherlock lingered for a moment, then disappeared out of the door. However, just before he left completely, he stuck his head back in.

"There, um, might be someone coming to… stop by."

Alex frowned suspiciously at his nervous tone, but he had sprinted off as soon as he finished speaking. Alex went to the door and peeped her head around the corner, but just saw one of the many police details, who gave her a shrug.

Shaking her head, Alex ducked back into the room and took up Sherlock's seat closest to Molly.

"He's a weirdo, right Molls?"

The only reply was the constant beeping. Alex grimaced and took hold of Molly's hand, careful not to dislodge the cannula in the back of it. She knew from experience how much that hurt.

"You'll be up and about soon, Molly," Alex said confidently. "Once you see the state of the paperwork in the morgue, I'll be able to hear you shouting from Baker Street. They got that temp in, someone Nathans. She's messed up all of your stuff, no doubt. Don't be too hard on her, though. She's only young. Probably even younger than you when you started. When was that again? A long time ago, I know. When I was little? Sherlock hasn't changed at all since then, has he?"

Alex was fully aware that she was rambling, and promptly stopped the endless string of words tumbling from her mouth. Maybe her new tactic would be to talk so much that Molly would _have _to wake up, just to get Alex to shut her trap.

They had told her that Molly was lucky not to have sustained too much damage in the fall. A few more moments underwater and she would have died on the rocks, which made Alex wince. The rocks were so harsh and sharp against skin. Alex would have much preferred to just drown in the water. Where everything was soft…

Alex cleared her throat, shivering. She didn't care to think about that, nor linger on the thought that if the mysterious person hadn't turned up and pulled her out of the sea, both of them would have been dead.

There was still no word on that front. She'd wracked her brain to try and remember something, _anything_, a gender, hair colour, something of use. But she couldn't. Just a hand large enough to wrap around her wrist with room to spare between their fingers. That wasn't saying much, though, as Alex's wrists were skinny. The police had eventually given up trying to get a description, and Sherlock didn't want to push it. He said that it was just as well that she was alive for now, and that they would deal with who saved her when the time came.

Alex rubbed a hand over her forehead in agitation, flinching when she half pulled off one of her steri-strips that covered the reasonable cut over her forehead. She swore lightly at the sting and walked over to the little bin in the corner of the room. She nipped the other side of the strip and was about to rip it off when a voice from the door stopped her.

"You should probably leave those on, you know."

Alex spun at the sound, heart thundering in her chest.

"April?" she said in disbelief, staring at the blonde girl.

April grinned, "Hi, Alex!"

The girl, now noticeably taller than the last time Alex saw her, bounded forwards and wrapped her in a strong hug.

"I've missed you!" April exclaimed, stepping back to glare at her. "Why didn't you tell me it was your birthday?"

Alex, stunned by the girl's sudden appearance, looked at her uncomfortably, "I didn't want to draw attention to you."

"What do you mean?" April looked up at her with her big, blue, curious eyes, which just made the guilt inside Alex worse.

"You know with… what happened last year. I didn't want to make you a target like you were then. I just wanted Moriarty to leave you alone. I'm glad he did."

April crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, "I can take him, the Irish bully!"

Despite herself, Alex laughed at the girl's brave words.

"I'm eight now, I'm old enough to take care of myself," April continued stubbornly, seemingly a little hurt by Alex's laughter.

"No, I'm not doubting that," Alex hurried to say. "I'm just happy to see you, even if it is in a hospital. How did you get here?"

"Your uncle Mycroft. He said he sorted it with my social worker and they picked me up from school to come here. He said you needed me," April added a little self-importantly.

"Did he now," Alex muttered, smiling at the thought. "Well, come on. Sit down."

Alex pulled out the other chair, and April sat beside her, looking curiously at Molly.

"She's going to get better?" April asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Alex replied firmly. "It's just a case of her body being rested enough for her to wake up."

"So she's just sleeping?"

"Yep."

"Do we have to be really quiet and whisper?"

"No, it isn't that kind of sleep. We want her to know we're here so she might wake up faster," Alex explained.

April digested the information and nodded slowly. There was a few moments silence before –

"You know I'm on the girls' football team?" she piped up randomly.

Alex blinked at the sudden topic change but went along with it, "That's great, April. I'm sure you're the best player."

"That's exactly what the woman said."

"What woman? Your coach?"

"No, the woman in the corridor outside. She was talking to your uncle Sherlock as he left and I walked up. I said the same thing to her."

The muscles in Alex's stomach clenched, "Was she a nurse?"

"No," April replied casually, picking at a blot of ink on her nail. "She said she was a receptionist."

"Therapist," a woman's voice corrected, making Alex gasp and immediately stand, subconsciously putting a protective hand around April's shoulder.

The woman closed the door behind her, and Alex eyed her warily. She was impeccably dressed, with an obviously expensively tailored skirt and blazer, hair pinned up into an intricate bun. Her face was severe, but with a bright smile.

"I'm Addie Sharp," she introduced herself, holding out her hand.

Alex took it hesitantly, "Alex Holmes."

"I know," the woman smiled, pulling up another chair and setting down her black leather briefcase. "Your uncle called me."

"There must have been some kind of mix-up, you must be here for Molly," Alex motioned to the unconscious woman. "If you give me your number, I can give you a ring when she wakes up if you'd like."

"No, no, I'm here for you," the woman's smile remained in place. "I understand you've been through some traumatic events–"

"Whoa," Alex interrupted her, irritation clear in her voice. "Look, I don't know what you've been told, but I'm completely, utterly fine. So…"

"Mr Holmes told me otherwise."

"And which Mr Holmes was that?"

"Mr Mycroft Holmes, I believe."

Alex glanced down at April, then back to the therapist, the dots beginning to fit together. Alex gave a humourless laugh, gritting her teeth at Mycroft. He had orchestrated everything. Meet her at the hospital where she won't storm off because she won't leave Molly. Make sure April's there because Alex wouldn't shout in front of April. Under the circumstances, she would have to behave.

"I won't make you do or say anything you don't want to do," Sharp insisted. "I just want to chat."

April beamed at her, "I'll chat with you. What do you want to talk about?"

"There you go," Alex said bluntly. "There's someone willing to."

"April, isn't it?" Sharp asked, continuing at April's nod. "I can talk to both of you if that's what you'd prefer."

April nodded excitedly, looking up at Alex's cold expression, "Come on, Alex. I had a therapist once a few months ago and it was really fun. We just played loads of games."

Unable to say no to April, Alex reluctantly sat back down in her chair. She found herself scanning the woman in front of her, checking for tell-tale shapes of guns or knives hidden inside her blazer. Her preliminary observation suggested that she was unarmed. But the same couldn't be said for the briefcase she carried.

Alex tensed as she picked up the briefcase and laid it on her knee. She unzipped it, took out a notebook and pen, then laid it back on the floor. She was taking notes. Watching Alex's behaviour. Body language. Facial expression. Tone of voice. It made Alex feel, for some reason, like a performing seal. But at least not a hunted one.

"So, I'll start off by asking you both a question: what's the best memory you can think of?" Sharp asked.

April's face twisted in thought, "When our football team won and everyone tried to lift me onto their shoulders because I was the one who scored."

"Well done," Sharp said, in what seemed like a sincere tone, but wasn't writing anything down. "Alex, you?"

April turned to her expectantly.

"Um, probably just a time my grandparent's house on holiday or… something," Alex replied in a non-committal tone.

Sharp began to furiously scribble, making Alex nervous. What could she have possibly gotten from that?

"Okay, now how many friends would you say you have?" Sharp asked, turning to April first.

"Seven," April replied instantly. "Lorna, Rebecca, Maisy, Sarah, Karen, Yasmin, and Saniba."

"Wow, that's a lot of friends. Alex?"

Alex tried to keep her face as neutral and body as still as possible as she said, "I don't have many."

"Why's that?"

"Because people get hurt."

April grimaced at the therapist, "Her dad's a psychopath."

Alex cleared her throat, sending a look to April to get her to be quiet.

"Can we, err, move on to a different question? Or if this is done - ?"

"Uh, two more. Is that okay?" Sharp asked.

Alex nodded. She could deal with two more. The sooner this was over with, the better.

"What would you say was your worst memory?"

Or not. Alex glared at the woman as April's shoulders slumped. Alex knew that April had more than her fair share of bad memories. They both had.

"I think we're done now," Alex said.

"But you haven't answered my question," Sharp pointed out, though something about the way she said it showed that this was the reaction she was expecting.

"That doesn't matter. I'm saying we're done. If you don't mind, we're busy looking after a friend of ours who happens to be in a coma," Alex said coldly.

Sharp sighed, "You've got a lot of anger, Alex. Also a lot of worry. You need to talk to someone. It'll help."

Sharp gave April a pointed look, and Alex immediately dismissed the blatant hint. She wasn't going to labour April with any _more _of her problems. Sharp grimaced, got to her feet, and left.

"That wasn't much fun," April murmured. "Sorry."

Alex gave her shoulder a squeeze, "It's okay. I didn't expect it to be."

April looked at Molly sadly as Alex held the woman's hand.

"Can she hear us?" she asked.

Alex shrugged, "Maybe."

The two lapsed into silence for a moment, in which Alex had time to think. Her brow knitted together as thoughts whirled through her head. What would she have said if she had been forced to answer that last question? What would she have been expected to say? Watching her mother die? Being trapped in the funhouse and hunted like an animal? The feeling of being completely vulnerable when collecting the drugs for William? Watching Lee go hurtling through the car windscreen? Realising that Logan had been lying to her her entire life? Hearing Laura Mauston's screams? Having to jump from a burning clifftop with the unconscious form of one of her family members in her arms?

Or what if the worst thing that she could think of wasn't a memory, but a possibility. Something that could be set in place at that moment.

Abandonment.

It had been the same thing last year. Mycroft believed that Alex would be better off living somewhere away from London, and Sherlock had managed to convince him otherwise. Would that still be the case now that it had happened again? Would Sherlock agree with his brother that it would be for the best?

Alex knew that that was the most terrifying notion she could think of. Being alone. To be without her family, the only people in her life that actually mattered, would tear her apart, especially after already been abandoned by her mother. Though, she would never need to worry about Sherlock or Mycroft meeting the same fate their sister did. The chance of either of them committing suicide was so slim that it wasn't worth thinking about. But moving Alex away for her own safety – that sounded like something they would do.

She just couldn't do it. She was strong for them. Without them, she would just fall apart.

"Alex," April interrupted her thoughts, her voice sounding higher than usual.

Alex looked over to her questioningly.

April pointed to Molly, eyes wide.

Alex followed her finger, gaze resting on Molly's face. She was unnaturally pale – even paler than usual – with a few tiny stitches stretching half an inch from her ear to her cheek. Alex couldn't detect anything different about the woman that warranted April's reaction, but then she saw it. A flicker of an eyelash. A roll of an eye beneath a lid.

"Go out into the corridor and get someone to call a nurse," Alex ordered instantly, also hitting the assistance button for good measure. "Tell them it's urgent."

April nodded and scrambled from her chair, almost knocking it over in the process.

Alex leant over to Molly, holding her hand tighter.

"Hi, Molly," Alex greeted with a wide smile. "You waking up? You've slept in."

Molly groaned, turning her head away from the light of the window.

"Wh' time's it?" she slurred.

Alex checked the clock above her bed, "Three o'clock."

Molly groaned again and took her hand from Alex's, putting it to her forehead.

"Have I been drinking?"

Alex laughed softly, "I feel like we need a drink. When you decide to get your lazy self out of bed, how about we go on a pub crawl?"

Molly snorted, eyes still half-closed, "You're sixteen."

"Only two more years," Alex reasoned. "How're you feeling?"

Molly wrinkled her nose in thought, "Strange. I think I'm still drunk."

"You're on some pretty strong drugs," Alex said, now serious. "You're in hospital."

Molly managed to open her eyes, squinting in confusion, "Hospital?"

"What do you remember about the past few days?"

"I remember… it was your birthday, wasn't it?"

"After that."

"Um… th-the caravan," she gasped. "My leg."

"Don't move it," Alex warned. "April's gone to get a doctor now."

"It's still there?"

"Yes."

Molly let out a sigh of relief and sunk back into her pillows, "I can't even feel it."

"Like I said, you're on some pretty strong painkillers."

"What happened? Did Sherlock get to us in time?"

"Not exactly," Alex replied, not in the least surprised that Molly didn't remember.

Molly frowned at her, "You… you carried me, didn't you? I remember being carried to the bathroom, and then… that's the last thing I remember."

"We jumped," Alex said, voice trembling just the faintest bit. "Into the sea. We both almost drowned, but–"

Alex was cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching the room. Alex let go of Molly's hand as the door opened and a horde of four doctors came pouring in. Two began to ask her questions, while the others busied themselves with her oxygen, IV lines, and many different monitors.

Not wanting to get in the way, Alex mouthed to Molly that she was going to wait outside, and the woman gave a distracted nod back as she answered more questions.

Alex met April outside in the corridor.

"Is she okay?" April immediately asked.

Alex nodded, "She seems to be. I just need to let everyone else know."

"I'd better go anyway, my social worker's just near the lifts. It was great to see you again. I'm glad you're both okay."

Alex smiled at the younger girl, giving her a brief hug, "I'll see you soon, I hope. Be careful, April. You know who to come to if you notice anything strange. It doesn't matter what, okay?"

April shifted, smile dropping for just a moment before being replaced again, "Yeah."

Alex cocked her head to the side, "That didn't sound confident."

"No, I know I can come to you for anything, honest," she gave that forced smile again. "Bye, then."

Alex grabbed her arm – perhaps a little too forcefully, as April flinched – and pulled her back.

"Why did you say it like that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, and you won't meet my eye," just to prove her point, April glanced away. "Has something happened that you're not telling me?"

"No," her voice was thick, like she was trying not to cry.

Alex's heart sped up, dread making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She pulled April out of the way of the guards to one of the chairs and knelt down so that they were of a similar height. She took her hands.

"April, you have to tell me the truth," Alex pleaded. "Has something happened to you?"

She shook her head, face contorting with the effort of trying not to cry.

Alex let go of her hands and opened her arms in invitation. April let out a little sob and hurled herself into Alex's embrace. She wrapped her arms around her neck and began to sob further. Alex held her back just as tightly, trying not to think of all of the horrible things that could have happened to the girl.

"If I tell you," April sniffed into Alex's shoulder. "You have to promise that y-you won't d-do anything really, really silly."

"I promise," Alex answered immediately.

"I was at afterschool club on yesterday, and my social worker rang and said she would be late. I was waiting outside and a man came over to me," April's voice shook. "He gave me… a message."

"Who for?"

"You."

Alex pulled April back so that she could look directly into her eyes, filled with so much fear that she felt like throwing up.

"April, did Moriarty come to see you?"

April shook her head, "The other one. The one that chased you."

Moran. Alex didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. Both were as dangerous as each other.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, he just told me to tell you something."

"What?"

"He said that your - " April cut herself off apologetically. "I mean, _Moriarty_, wanted to speak to you. He said he was angry. That you cheated. He wanted to meet with you."

Alex sighed, tucking a piece of April's blonde hair behind her ear, "Why didn't you just tell me that when you first came in?"

"Because I knew you'd go meet him!" April exclaimed, only for Alex to shush her in case of one of the security details heard her and reported back to Sherlock or Mycroft. "I don't want you to get hurt because of me."

"Hey, if I was ever hurt, you've known me long enough to know that it would have probably been my own stupid fault," Alex smiled. "Never yours."

April nodded and looked down at her folded hands in her lap.

Alex blew out a breath, "Where did he want me to meet him?"

April looked up in alarm, "You can't–!"

"I'm not going to," Alex interrupted her calmly.

"Then why do you want to know?" April asked suspiciously.

"So I can call Mycroft and tell him where Moriarty will be waiting."

April thought about this for a moment before giving a sigh of resignation.

"He didn't give me the name. He just said the street where you went to nursery. He said you'd remember."

The location made Alex frown for a moment, but she recomposed herself.

"Okay, I'll let Mycroft know. And April, if there's anything like that, please just tell me. Don't feel like you need to keep everything to yourself."

"Because we're friends."

"Because we're friends."

"And you don't have many."

Alex glanced away from her for a moment, "You know why I don't. But that just means that I can concentrate on looking after the ones I do have."

April smiled and dried her eyes with the back of her hand, "I should go now."

Alex gave her another hug as she stood up, "Please be careful, April."

"You, too."

Alex watched as the younger girl left down the corridor, watching in the glass of the double doors as she met her social worker. Alex let out a sigh and dropped into the seat, taking out her phone. She dialled Sherlock's number, but there was no answer. That wasn't much of surprise, but she thought that he would at least have his phone next to him given the current circumstances. She shrugged and rang Mycroft, but it also rang off. Now _that _was strange.

**Hey, Mycroft. I've tried to call you and Sherlock but there's no answer. Is everything okay? Molly's woken up! She seems okay at the moment but I'll need to talk to the doctors when they're finished with her. Call me back, please – AH**

Alex hesitated before sending the second message.

**Mycroft, Moran collared April yesterday. He told her that Moriarty would be waiting for me near my old school. I expect he'll get away even if you send people down there, but I thought I should let you know – AH**

**Oh, by the way, thanks for telling me about the therapist. I don't know if you picked up my sarcasm there. We'll talk later. Call me back – AH**

Alex rested her phone on her lap, disturbed. Mycroft always answered his phone. _Always. _She couldn't think of any point in her life that he hadn't. He was watching over the interrogation of Moran, nothing could have possibly happened to him from the observation area, could it?

Just when she was about to panic, a text came through.

**Sorry about that, I was indisposed. We have Moriarty in custody. Come down to Cromwell Street, Sherlock and I are there. Give our regards to Miss Hooper – MH**

Alex's jaw dropped. They had Moriarty. He was actually in custody. They had trapped him. It was over.

And Sherlock and Mycroft were fine. She almost scoffed at herself. Of _course _they were fine. It was Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, they were invincible. It would take an army to bring them down.

Moriarty was in custody, Moran was in custody, Molly was recovering. It was all happening so fast.

Speaking of Molly recovering, one of the doctors that had been buzzing around the woman popped his head around the corner of the corridor and smiled when he saw her. He came over and Alex stood up.

"How is she?" Alex asked.

"She's doing very well. Still a little dazed as you've probably noticed, but I think she should be home in the next few days. The infection has cleared up after all of the antibiotics we gave her. We'll just be keeping her for observation."

"And her leg?"

"We've put pins in to keep it in place as it was badly broken. She'll need them taken out in the next couple of weeks to a month, depending on how fast it heals. She'll need a wheelchair or crutches, but once it heals completely, she'll be able to walk normally."

"So there's no long-term effects?"

"None have presented themselves yet. She'll be just fine," the doctor smiled. "She's asking after you."

"Thank you," Alex said sincerely.

He nodded with a little 'okay', and left through the double doors that April had gone through.

Alex walked back to Molly's room, where a few doctors still lingered. She came over and stood by Molly's side.

"Hey," Molly greeted tiredly.

"Are you okay?"

"Feel like going back to sleep."

"That's completely normal," a nurse fiddling with her IV line supplied.

"Molly, I have to go, but Greg said he'd be here in about twenty minutes," Alex informed her.

Molly nodded, "Okay. Where are you going, everything okay?"

"More than okay," Alex said with a wide grin. "Moriarty and Moran are in custody."

Molly's eyes widened in surprise, "Really?"

"Yup. And this time, we won't let either of them get away. I know Mycroft will get every person under his command to make sure of it," Alex couldn't keep the excitement from her voice. "This could be the end of it, Molls. It's just what I was saying to Sherlock earlier. We can finally be free of him hurting people."

"I can't believe it…"

"I know. I've got to go, though. Cromwell Street. Mycroft wants me there. He and Sherlock said for you to get well soon."

"Be careful, Alex," Molly said, but her voice was getting weaker the sleepier she got.

"I will."

Alex gave her a half-hug and almost ran out of the room, down the four flights of stairs, and out onto the pavement. She hailed a cab, and gave the cabbie the address. He nodded and began to drive.

Alex looked out of the window, not bothering to keep the smile from her face. They had him. They _had _him. It was all over. Finally. Alex could go back to how things used to be. She didn't have to live in fear anymore.

Not anymore.

* * *

><p>Molly woke up ten minutes after Alex had left, roused by the sound of the door opening. She looked blearily at the blurry figure standing at the foot of her bed, until her eyes focussed and she saw Detective Lestrade smiling at her.<p>

"Greg," Molly grinned, voice a little croaky.

"Hi, Molly," Greg replied with a large smile as he placed a fresh bouquet of flowers in the vase on her bedside table. "We've all been so worried about you. What have the doctors said?"

"I'm on the road to recovery and I can go home in a few days, I think."

"That's great," he sat down on the chair beside her. "It was…"

"You can say it, Greg," Molly said softly.

"Hit-and-miss for a while," Greg finished reluctantly.

"But I'm okay now. Thanks to Alex, that is," she added.

"Where is she? She should still be here?" Greg asked.

Molly's face brightened, "You don't know?"

Greg shook his head confusedly.

"Moriarty's been arrested."

Greg's jaw went slack in shock, "Wh-what? When?!"

"Just now, Mycroft rang Alex and she ran off to meet him and Sherlock."

"I can't believe they didn't tell me," Greg muttered. "Let me call them."

Greg took out his mobile and called Sherlock. Of course, it rang, then was cut off immediately. A text followed promptly.

**What do you want? – SH**

**What's this I hear about Moriarty? Why didn't you tell me, you sod! No mate, I'm over the moon for all of you. Let this be the end, eh? – GL**

There wasn't a reply for a moment, then the phone began to ring. Greg answered it and put it to his ear.

"Oh, look who wants to speak to me now," Greg mocked, but without malice.

_"What are you talking about?" _Sherlock asked.

"Hmm?"

_"With Moriarty? What are you talking about?"_

Greg frowned, "Well, you have him… don't you?"

_"Have him? Of course not. Don't you think I would have told you by now?"_

Greg shot Molly a confused look.

"One minute, Sherlock."

He put a hand over the phone speaker and turned to Molly, who in turn also looked extremely confused.

"Are you sure that's what Alex said?" Greg asked.

"Of course, why?"

"Sherlock says he knows nothing about it."

"Pass me your phone," Molly said, sitting herself up. "Let me talk to him."

* * *

><p>Sherlock had stepped out of the observation room to call Lestrade, telling Mycroft to mind his own business when he asked why. He waited impatiently for Lestrade to return to the phone, but after a short burst of static, it was Molly that answered.<p>

_"Sherlock, I swear Alex said you had him!"_

"You _are _on lots of medication, Molly," Sherlock reminded her bluntly. "Happy consciousness by the way."

_"No, I'm _telling _you. Alex came in all happy saying that it was over. I haven't seen her that happy in ages."_

Sherlock sighed, "Molly–"

_"Don't," _she interrupted fiercely, causing Sherlock to raise his eyebrows. _"Don't tell me I imagined it, because I didn't. Tell me this, if Alex isn't with you, and she isn't with us, where is she?"_

Sherlock stopped.

"When did she leave?"

_"About twenty minutes ago."_

"Where?"

_"She said she was going to meet you on Cromwell Street, wherever that is."_

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. That was where Alex used to go to school. Molly couldn't have known that unless… unless Alex told her.

"I have to go."

He didn't wait for a reply before ending the call and ducking back into the observation area where Mycroft stood, watching Moran through the glass.

"Mycroft, we have a problem."

Mycroft turned to him expectantly, "Which is?"

"Alex–" Sherlock stopped short, catching Moran's eye, though he knew the man couldn't see them.

He was getting to his feet from where he had been sat cross-legged in the middle of the cell.

"What did you expect?!" Moran shouted, glee apparent on his features. "She cheated! What did you expect him to do?! She just can't help herself from getting into trouble!"

"Sherlock, where is she?"

"her old school."

* * *

><p>Alex thanked the cabbie and climbed out of the cab. She stood on the curb outside her old nursery and primary school. It was home-time, and a horde of children were pouring out from the gates, holding tightly onto their mother or father's hand, jabbering about their days. It made Alex think of the times she had walked out of those gates. When her mother would drop her off on a morning, and Sherlock would pick her up on a night, always a bar of chocolate in his pocket for her. Or the day she got sent home from school for being too muddy after rolling down the hill with Logan, when Sherlock told her to get Mycroft's white interior as filthy as possible.<p>

Her thoughts were splintered when a little boy wearing a Spiderman backpack came charging away from his mother, using his coat as a cape, heading towards the road. Without thinking, Alex pulled him back as he ran in front of her, just as a car sped past them. The boy's mother came running over and took his hand.

"Andrew!" she scolded, then turned to Alex. "Thank you. He's a little hyperactive."

"No problem," Alex smiled.

The woman gave her another expression of thanks and walked away, a tight grip on little Andrew's hand, who now wore a dejected frown. She continued to berate him as they walked.

Alex watched them go with a little smile, then tried to find Sherlock and Mycroft through the crowd of people. They had definitely told her to meet them here. Where were they? And the police cars? Why was everything so normal? There should have been mass panic, a major operation...

That was when the pieces began to click together.

"How gallant of you."

Alex froze, face expressionless as the voice she knew all too well came closer. She could see his shadow stood just behind her.

"You tricked me," she stated.

"Yes."

"Are you going to hurt me?" Alex asked bluntly.

"No."

"Then why am I here?" Alex asked, still facing away from him, unmoving.

"For five minutes, I want to chat."

"And if I don't want to?"

"What was that little boy's name?" Moriarty asked. "Andrew?"

"Leave him alone."

"I hope I don't have to do otherwise. That's up to you."

Alex closed her eyes in resignation, finally turning to face him, "Five. Minutes. That's all you get."

He smiled, "Good girl. We have lots to talk about."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: FAndomlifeCRazy101, armstrongjess, Sarah, rycbar15, StraightFromCrazy, AddieHolmes, and Guest for reviewing!<strong>

**This plotline is almost over now! We shall soon be moving on to Hounds of Baskerville, which I am really excited for!**

**Replies will be sent to you all soon :D  
><strong>

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

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	95. Call it an Epiphany

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! I've been working on this chapter all week and it's been really hard to write because I've found myself really lacking the motivation to do anything this week. Hopefully I'll snap out of it because doing anything is like pulling teeth. Anyone else get that? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"What was that little boy's name?" Moriarty asked. "Andrew?"_

_"Leave him alone."_

_"I hope I don't have to do otherwise. That's up to you."_

_Alex closed her eyes in resignation, finally turning to face him._

_He smiled, "Good girl. We have lots to talk about."_

He looked different, Alex noted. There were dark hollows beneath his eyes and a thin layer of stubble coated his jawline. But what thing that was the same, was the menacingly calm look in his eyes.

"Take a walk with me?" he asked with a smile.

"Where?"

"Just around the corner. I only have five minutes, remember."

"And will this walk entail a questionable-looking van with a spacious boot?"

He snorted softly in amusement, "No, regrettably."

He held out his arm for her to take, but she kept her own tight against her side.

He titled his head at her, "At least _look _like you're enjoying my company."

"I'm not."

"We're standing outside of your old school. If they see you walking unwillingly beside a strange man – and you keep that look in your eye – don't you think it will look a little odd?" Jim shook his head at her disappointedly. "I said I didn't want to hurt that boy, but it doesn't mean I won't."

Alex ground her teeth together, forcing her face to be neutral, and reluctantly allowed her arm to curl stiffly around his. As she touched him, she suddenly wanted nothing more than to rip herself from his hold and run away as fast as possible. But she knew she couldn't, so settled for clenching her fists and pretending not to feel the gooseflesh that was crawling up her neck.

"So this was where you walked to school when you stayed with your mother," Jim remarked, looking around the houses as they walked up the path. "Though that wasn't often. Sherlock usually looked after you, did he not? That's according to Logan anyway."

Alex narrowed her eyes in anger, again feeling the sinking feeling inside her chest that she had felt when she had first found out about his hidden agenda to their friendship. She quickly looked away, not wanting Moriarty to see that he had caused such a reaction in her.

"You both used to get into so much _trouble," _Jim punctuated his words with a friendly squeeze on the shoulder, to which Alex nearly punched him for. "I remember hearing about an incident when you barricaded yourselves into the library to protest about not being allowed to go on the school trip. I don't know if that's the Holmes or the Moriarty shining out in you."

Dropping her head down, Alex remained silent for the rest of the way, counting the steps they were taking. It used to take her seven hundred and fifty steps to get to school from her house. Seven hundred and fifty five steps, three corners, and two roads. That was seven hundred and fifty five steps, three corners, and one road they had just walked.

Two roads.

"Look up, Alex."

She didn't need to. She knew where they were. She recognised to chip in the drain by the curb. The paw print in the patch of cement slightly darker than the rest of the path. The way the pavement sloped down a little, the work of sloppy contractors.

"Why have you brought me here?" Alex mumbled, still looking down.

"I told you, we need to talk."

"We could have talked anywhere, it didn't have to be here," Alex said, her voice getting more and more venomous.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "You don't want me here?"

"Of course not."

He was silent or a moment, before he sucked in a loud breath of comprehension.

"You haven't been back since, have you?" he said softly. "Ten years… Look up. Come on, Alex, look up."

When her gaze remained fixed on the ground, he titled her chin up, overpowering her will to remain oblivious as to what was in front of her. Yet there it was, as it had ever been.

Home.

The front garden was overgrown with dandelions and nettles the size of cattle, but her mother was never a gardener. It had always been like that. Alex would hide in the undergrowth for hours, pretending to be trekking through the Amazon, then turn up in the kitchen with bleeding knees, muddy face, blebby skin, and a huge beaming grin on her face. Now, the memory made her eyes water.

"Which window was your room?" Jim asked.

Alex, not knowing why she was indulging him, pointed to the window above the door.

"Come on, then."

He gave her a firm tug. Shocked and overcome with so many memories, Alex didn't have the strength to fight him, and stumbled up the path. The front door was open – Moriarty's prior doing no doubt. Alex suddenly knew what was coming next.

"No," she shook her head vehemently. "No, no, no."

Moriarty ignored her, wrenching her forward by the arm with such force that she stumbled over the step. He, of course, being the ever-loving father he was, caught her under her arms. She wriggled away from him, pushing him against the front door.

"There, we're out of public view," she spat, trying to mask the warble in her voice.

The punch she delivered to his face would have shocked even Sherlock.

His head snapped to the side at the force, blood beginning to seep from his lip, and the entire left side of his face to burn an angry vermillion colour. At first, Alex eyed him warily, expecting a blow back. Instead, he began to chuckle. He flexed his jaw and rubbed his face.

"You've got a good punch. I reckon that hurt you just as much as it hurt me, though. Your technique's wrong."

Her fist was indeed stinging horribly, not that she would let on. She had more important things to deal with.

She could see it.

Just behind his head. In the reflection of the pane of glass in the front door. Jim looked over her shoulder, and she knew he could see it too. The stairs.

"That's where it happened," his smile suddenly dropped, voice strangely solemn. "Wasn't it?"

Alex closed her eyes briefly before meeting his, "Yes."

The one thing that she was weirdly aware of as she turned, was the feeling of her heart beating. Thudding. Quickening. It was as if it was frightened, an animal backed into the furthest corner of a cage. She could almost hear the flush of blood, and the time that Sherlock taught her about how the heart worked – in the very next room – rushed back to her. Deoxygenated blood to the right atrium to the right ventricle to be taken to the lungs by the pulmonary artery to be oxygenated to be taken by the pulmonary veins into the left atrium to the left ventricle, to the aorta, to the body, all in one squeeze. Over and over and over and over –

Then she felt hers stop.

Jim and the door was behind her, and in front, were the stairs. The stairs she had stood at the top of and watched her life fall apart. There were still the scuffmarks in the wooden flooring where the step ladders had been, the metal hook in the ceiling that used to hold up the curtains that went over the baby gate when she was younger. It ended up holding up something much different.

"How long did it take?" Moriarty asked quietly.

"A few minutes."

All was silent for a moment as they both stared at the spot, before Moriarty grabbed Alex by the elbow and pulled her into the living room. It was just how it had been, completely untouched. Even the old box TV sat atop its perch, an old video copy of The Black Cauldron on the top.

"The reason I came here, Alex," Moriarty said, letting go of her, his voice more stable than minutes before. "Was because I need to know something. And I need to make sure that you aren't lying to me. Understand?"

"Why would I not lie to you here?" Alex asked, wondering how on earth Moriarty managed to change his voice like that. She could hear the tremor in hers. "You think I wouldn't lie in the place my mother died? I'm not that sentimental."

"No," Moriarty said, reaching into his pocket and walking over to the window, fiddling with the curtains. "But you can't deny you don't have an attachment to the place. It would be a shame if it were to suddenly disappear."

It was then she realised what he had in his hand. A lighter.

"Don't."

"I don't want to. Just like I don't want to hurt that boy. I don't want to do a lot of things but you force me to. So who's the real criminal?"

"You," Alex answered instantly. "Now what do you not want me to lie about?"

Moriarty watched her for a moment with a smile, then pocketed the lighter, walking over to her slowly.

"I don't often feel the sensation of not knowing something. My profession relies heavily on intelligence and knowledge. I know everything about everyone I am involved with. For example, I knew that Aston Banks had two children, one of which has an undiagnosed heart condition, I know the other's teacher will soon be arrested for paedophilia, I know he was about to quit his job after seeing one to many children die, I know Banks's mother abused him, and I know that his wife had an affair," Moriarty commented, pacing.

"Who's Aston Banks?" Alex asked.

"Knowledge is power, Alex," Moriarty continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And now I need to know something from you, and that is a hard thing for me to say."

"Then spit it out," Alex snapped.

Moriarty stopped pacing, turning to Alex bluntly, "Who saved you?"

"What?"

"In the water. Who saved you?"

Alex frowned, taking a step back, "You knew?"

"Of course I did," he said off-handedly. "Now tell me who it was."

"Like I'd tell you! They saved mine and Molly's lives, after you were seconds away from killing us. Or had you forgotten that part?" Alex mocked, anger rising within her again.

"I was never going to let you die," Moriarty said as if it were obvious.

"We had _just _gotten out when the caravan exploded."

"Because I knew that you were going to make it out."

"And how could you have known that?"

"Because I was watching," he watched Alex's face drain of colour. "And listening. Oh yes, all of your little conversations about Logan and William," he spat the name. "I waited for the moment that you figured out your code, and I waited until you were in the bathroom to set off the countdown to spur you on."

Alex's frown deepened, "You mean, we weren't on a countdown at all? You gave us forty-eight hours…"

"And you had fifty-one. You think I would take a gamble like that?"

"You did last year. I drowned, remember?"

"And I have learnt from then. And anyway, I made the lock on the container simple and half unlocked. It wasn't that hard to get out," he shrugged.

"_Wasn't that hard_?" Alex scoffed under her breath, shaking her head. "So I've just been your little puppet throughout this? Molly and I?"

Moriarty smiled, "I customised everything, from the van with the gap between the seats and back, to the Satnav that displayed the coordinates, to the array of objects you could use to write them down. You aren't just lucky, you know. But we're getting off track. Let's get back to what I really came here for. I'm going to ask you straight. Who saved you?"

Alex took a step forward, staring him in the eyes, "I don't know."

"Was it William? Are you protecting him?" Moriarty demanded.

"I've told you, I don't know."

"Was it _him? _Yes or no. 'I don't know' isn't an answer."

"It wasn't him. When I told him about it, he was as surprised as you–" Alex stopped. She had just told him that William was at the scene. She licked her lips, hoping stupidly that he hadn't noticed.

"I know he was there," Moriarty drawled. "He always is. Always gets away. What makes you think he didn't lie to you?"

"He seemed sincere."

"Will is one hell of an actor."

"He would have no reason to lie," Alex protested stubbornly. "Anyway, it didn't feel like his hand. I would have recognised him."

"You were underwater."

"I would have known!" Alex shouted in frustration. "Whoever it was, they weren't familiar. They felt strange… I can't explain it. But it wasn't William."

Moriarty ran a hand over his worn, stubbly face.

"This is what's eating you up, isn't it?" Alex almost laughed. "You're pissed off that someone came in and ruined your script. Well I've got news for you, my life isn't your own personal West-End show!"

In one swift movement, Moriarty had Alex pinned against the wall, causing the frame in the photo on the wall behind her head to crack. Alex winced.

"You dare talk to me like that," he hissed. "You wanted to know who Aston Banks was. I murdered him. He and another man, all as a clue for them to find you. They're dead because of you. How's that for a show?"

"They're dead because of _you,_" Alex spat, their faces so close that she could feel every angered breath he took. "I'm sick of shouldering the blame for what you've done. I haven't killed anyone. _YOU _have."

"Exactly, I have killed many people, Alex, and that won't stop any time soon until I get what I want, so tell me who it was who saved you," Moriarty demanded once more, eyes like flames.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Alex yelled, finally snapping. "And you're about ten minutes over your time."

"I don't care, I'm staying until I get answers. Even if I have to burn this house down."

"Those are answers that I don't have!"

Moriarty opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly closed it. He glanced away from Alex, cocking his head slightly to the side. He seemed to be listening to something. It took Alex a moment to realise that he had a tiny, clear earpiece in the curve of his ear. Someone was talking to him. Whatever it was, it wasn't good for him. Which meant it was extremely good for Alex.

He gritted his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath and cursing. With obvious reluctancy, he let go of Alex's shoulders.

"Don't think you've got a guardian angel. I'm telling you, Alex. I'm going to find who I'm looking for, and whoever you're protecting," he leant in and whispered. "I'm going to make them scream until the very last second of their lives."

Unable to think of anything to say to that, Alex did the only thing she could think of, and spat in his face, "Guess I'll just have to find them first."

* * *

><p>In the end, after another punch, Moriarty left with a threat to Alex if she did find out who it was and didn't tell him. At first she had wondered why he had scarpered so quickly, but then checked her phone and found several hundred missed calls from various people. She was just glad she had told Molly where she was going. No doubt Moriarty had been informed that they were in the area of the school.<p>

She rang Sherlock first.

_"Where are you?" _was the greeting she got.

"Home."

_"Home?" _she could hear the confusion in his voice. _"Baker Street?"_

"No," she cleared her throat. "Old home."

He was silent for a moment, _"Moriarty's gone."_

"Yes. Got word of you being here and ran away."

_"Are you injured?"_

"No."

_"What did he want?"_

"To talk. Look, it's a long story. Just get here, okay?"

She ended the call, shoving her phone in her pocket with a sigh, then looked around the room. It was so quiet. She didn't think it had ever been this quiet in her life. Her mother had always had music or a film on, or Alex and Logan would be running up and down the stairs playing Indians and Cowboys, screaming at the top of their lungs. Now, it was lifeless.

The photo frame she had cracked had held the photograph of her mother as a teenager, just a few weeks before she fell pregnant with Alex. Alex had never really looked at it before, but she saw now how happy her mother actually looked. She had a glass of some alcoholic beverage in her hand and seemed to be dancing. She had the widest beaming smile on her face, though slightly drunk, and dilated pupils. Alex wondered who had taken that picture. Moriarty? They had been together then.

'Together'.

Alex had been passing off the relationship between Moriarty and her mother as one filled with malice. That he forced her into it, that she was victim. But looking at this photo, she looked happier than ever.

Alex smiled softly.

Her mother had always had a way of turning a positive spin on things, not letting things drag her down. Always saying how she couldn't pick Alex up from school tonight but she can pick her up tomorrow and then go out for tea somewhere special. Or yes, she was staying at Mycroft's tonight but she could sneak in some chocolates from the kitchen.

She was always happy and positive. Until she wasn't. It made Alex wonder if it had all been a charade. That every time Alex wasn't looking, her mother's smile would drop and a haunted look would appear in her eyes, replacing the humorous glint that was once there. Then of course, one night it all came out. And the usually happy woman she had known had turned out to be not so happy after all. She had been all fake smiles and ghosts of the past in her eyes and only dark memories for company.

With a start, Alex realised just how similar she and her mother were. How Moriarty had made them both. What had happened to her mother.

Alex set her jaw.

No.

She wasn't going to end up like her mother. There was no way she was going to let herself self-destruct, not after everything. She wouldn't put Sherlock and Mycroft through that again. It wasn't too late now. She could stop the and turn away from the path that her mother had once trodden. She could be happy again, if she let herself be. What she had said to Moriarty had been true. The deaths of the people she had blamed herself for were Moriarty's doing, not hers. Yes, she had been through Hell, but it was her decision whether or not to curl up in a ball and cry about it or get up and move on, before she winded up just another Holmes on the end of a rope.

It wasn't too late. Not by a long shot.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock arrived at the house, Alex was waiting at the bottom of the path. Sherlock tried to keep his eyes on her, but they strayed to the house behind her. He hadn't been back since that night either. But, being Sherlock Holmes, he managed to push that thought aside for a later date, and concentrated on Alex.<p>

She looked different, but he couldn't quite grasp what it was. Her stance was different, more confident. Chin raised slightly. Crinkles by the sides of her eyes as she gave him a smile. Something was under her arm.

"What did Moriarty talk to you about?" he asked, frowning at her sudden shift in behaviour and appearance.

"It doesn't matter," she brushed off. "Just some information that I couldn't give. Where's Mycroft?"

Sherlock chewed the side of his lip, unable to gauge how she would react to what he was about to say.

"Moran escaped just as Mycroft left. He had to go back to sort out the mess. Or attempt to."

Alex smile dipped slightly, but then she, surprisingly recovered, "We knew it would happen. Any fatalities?"

"Looks like an inside job. Most were just drugged, no one's dead yet."

"Well that's something. Do you need to be there?"

"No, I'll let Mycroft dig himself deeper into the hole himself," Sherlock said. "What did Moriarty want information about?"

"Same thing I want, to find out who saved us," Alex sighed, but with a smile. "But we'll find them. Before _he _does anyway."

"You want to work on it tonight?"

Alex shook her head, "We'll start tomorrow. For tonight, I could use a quiet night in, how about you?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "What did you have in mind?"

Alex took the object from beneath her arm, and Sherlock realised that it was a video, a transfer along the edge revealing that it was The Black Cauldron.

"We have an old video player don't we?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Mrs Hudson has food."

"Probably."

"Then I guess that just leaves one thing."

"And what's that?" Sherlock asked.

Alex grinned, "Can you still do the dragon voice?"

At that, he smirked, "I expect so."

"Good," she said happily. "Would you care to accompany me on a trip down memory lane?"

"You're different," Sherlock stated, finally having to say. "Why?"

Alex shrugged, "Call it… an epiphany."

Sherlock gave her a disbelieving look, but decided not to pursue it. She was happy again, that was what mattered.

She was Alex again. And there was no way she was going to let herself follow the footsteps of the Holmes before her.

* * *

><p><strong>And that's the end of the angst for a while!<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: DerekHaleSiriusBlack1103, armstrongjess, Loyal Elf, ShiedlockHolmes, rycbar15, simplemusings12, FlewandFlied, shnuffeluv, veryfluffybunny, CallmeEevee, and kitty kat wings for reviewing!**

**You are all fantastic people! Replies shall be sent to you soon :D Thank you so much!**

**Check out the prequel, a new chapter should be up at the weekend.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	96. Hounds of Baskerville - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for not updating last week, my exams are taking over. Thankfully, I only have two left before the summer so I'm kind of wishing this next week away. Anyway, here is the first instalment of Hounds of Baskerville! A longer than usual chapter, too :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Alex grinned, "Can you still do the dragon voice?"_

_At that, he smirked, "I expect so."_

_"Good," she said happily. "Would you care to accompany me on a trip down memory lane?"_

_"You're different," Sherlock stated, finally having to say. "Why?"_

_Alex shrugged, "Call it… an epiphany."_

_Sherlock gave her a disbelieving look, but decided not to pursue it. She was happy again, that was what mattered. _

_She was Alex again._

A lot happened over the next few weeks. Molly got discharged from the hospital, being able to use crutches instead of needing a wheelchair – which she was ecstatic about – and had taken up temporary residence in her sister's flat. Apparently, they both had an unhealthy obsession with binge-watching TV shows online, and so weren't seen often.

Mycroft had managed to keep Moran's escape as quiet as was possible, but Alex noted the fact that he had considerably less staff than he used to have. There were rumours that Moran had been spotted in various parts of the country – Cornwall was a popular claim – but all came back empty-handed.

Sherlock had waited until just the right moment when Alex was falling asleep rewatching The Black Cauldron, to broach the subject of going to her grandparents' house, a plan that he and Mycroft had been discussing – arguing – about for some time. She had looked up calmly at him and declined. When he suggested going there for a holiday, she also shook her head, claiming that a week would turn into two and two would turn into three and she would soon be visiting _Baker Street_ as a holiday. Sherlock, realising that he wasn't going to win this one, and realising that he didn't really want to, raised his hands in surrender and dropped the subject.

Alex hadn't just been watching old videos, however. At every opportunity she had, she was looking into the Saviour, as April had dramatically dubbed them when she had been visiting earlier in the week. She had scoured CCTV, people living in the area, people booking holidays in the area, the coastguard, the local police, anyone she could think of, and came back with nothing. She supposed it was comforting that they had managed to leave no trace of themselves, considering the fact that she wasn't the only one looking for them. But the fact that they could do that, suggested they weren't just a concerned onlooker. It suggested skill, and a reason to hide. That wasn't so comforting.

But perhaps the most disconcerting thing, was that as the weeks passed, the number of cases through their door dropped. Dramatically. And Sherlock was getting restless. Alex found the lack of cases rather refreshing, and allowed her to spend more time with April, as it was half-term.

"Check," Alex said almost regretfully, moving her knight.

April groaned and stared at the chessboard with loathing, "Why are we playing this stupid game?"

"You asked me to teach you."

April crossed her arms, "Well you're a rubbish teacher."

"Hey, I'm only going off what Sherlock taught me."

"Well _he's _a rubbish teacher then."

"Don't tell him that," John said with a smile from his armchair, where he had been watching the game for the past hour.

April shrugs, "He likes me. Sort of. I mean, I don't think he hates me so…"

"Of course he doesn't hate you," Alex said. "Go on, your move."

"But I can't! You know I can't!"

Alex tilted her head at the board, she couldn't see an escape route for April either. John cleared his throat and nodded to the younger girl, motioning to the board.

"What?" April asked.

John raised his eyebrows, again nodding to the board. Alex sent him a curious look and turned back to the game, trying to figure out what he was saying.

It came to the girls at the same time.

"_Ohh," _they drew out in unison.

April grinned and moved her king to the left, leaving Alex's knight to be swallowed up by a forgotten pawn.

"You're really good at this," Alex complimented, turning to John.

John shrugged, "I used to play a lot with Harry when we were younger. She'd always win, of course, but I suppose the knack of playing never quite left."

"You should challenge Sherlock," April suggested off-handedly.

"No!" Alex and John both exclaimed.

"Definitely not," John affirmed, an incredulous look on his face. "That would not go down well, I can tell you that now."

"He'd no doubt accuse you of cheating."

"That's if I won."

"No, that's if you came marginally close to beating him. You won't win, no offence. Sherlock is a chess master, it's ridiculous. That's why I never really played, I preferred to play Snakes and Ladders just to wind him up," Alex paused as she heard the front door slam. "Sounds like he's back."

"Where'd he go again?" John asked.

Alex shrugged, "Some weird case or – Sherlock!"

Her uncle stood in the doorway, breathing heavily and covered head to toe in blood, the scarlet liquid spattered across his face and clothes. In his hand was a harpoon, which he slammed down onto the wooden flooring with a resounding bang.

John whipped round to face his friend, and held the same stunned expression as Alex. April just shook her head with a 'your uncle's weird' and began to fiddle with the queens.

"Well that was tedious," Sherlock said, offering no further explanation.

"You went on the Tube, like _that?" _

"None of the cabs would take me," he replied with an irritated scowl.

And with that, he stalked off to his bedroom, leaving Alex and John in a shocked silence.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, sit down, you're making me dizzy," Alex complained, picking up the chess pieces from the floor.<p>

April had been picked up by her social worker – thankfully after Sherlock had washed away the blood and John had managed to kick the harpoon under the sofa.

Now Sherlock had regained his weapon and was brandishing it impatiently as he paced the length of the room.

"Nothing?"

"Military coup in Uganda," John read out from the newspaper.

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed disinterestedly.

John chuckled lightly, "Another photo of you with the hat."

Sherlock recoiled in disgust.

"Photo of you as well, Alex."

"Really?"

"People complimenting your jacket, it looks like."

"You mean the one I bought from the PDSA charity shop for fifty pence?" Alex asked in amusement, getting up and looking over his shoulder. "Yep. If people are looking for a clothing icon, they're looking at the wrong girl."

"Moving on from your fashion endeavours," Sherlock grumbled. "What else?"

"Oh, um, Cabinet reshuffle."

"Nothing of importance?!" Sherlock slammed the harpoon back down onto the floor in anger, "Oh God!"

Alex sent an alarmed look to John – she knew what was coming now.

"John," _here we go. _"I need some. _Get_ me some."

"No," John said simply.

"I second that," Alex added.

"Get me some!"

"No!" John raised his voice to match Sherlock's. "Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what."

Sherlock threw the harpoon against the table, where it slid off and nearly impaled Alex's foot.

"Jesus!" Alex moved closer to John. "Definitely not getting you any now."

"You're my own flesh and blood, surely you'd understand!" Sherlock implored.

"No, funnily enough I don't know what it's like to have a crippling cigarette obsession, please elaborate," Alex deadpanned.

He scowled at her.

"Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No-one within a two mile radius'll sell you any," John reminded him.

"Stupid idea," Sherlock spat. "Whose idea was that?"

John cleared his throat.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called.

"Oh, don't get her involved," Alex sighed. "She's just going to tell you the same thing."

He ignored her, opting instead for ripping papers from the desk and throwing them over his shoulder in his attempts to find his cigarettes.

"Sherlock, that's my school stuff!" Alex moaned, getting to her hands and knees and scooping up her revision notes. "My exams are soon, you idiot."

"You haven't been to school in ages. I thought Mycroft said you were homeschooled," Sherlock muttered distractedly.

"Yes, but I still need to do my exams. I have to go in to do them and then I can leave, but I won't pass if you don't stop hurling my stuff–" she was cut off mid-sentence by a calculator to her forehead. "Sherlock!"

"I don't care right now! Just give me my secret supply!"

"Look, Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now," John said.

"Tell me where they are," Sherlock continued regardless, haphazardly throwing papers in the air. "Please. Tell me."

When John remained silent, he turned to him, forcing his eyes to soften.

"Please," he managed out, putting on his best puppy-dog face.

"Can't help, sorry."

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers."

John let out a disbelieving laugh.

Sherlock scowled, "Worth a try."

His eyes scanned the room.

"Stop looking for things to destroy," Alex said, shaking her head as Sherlock dived to the floor in front of the fireplace, beginning to scramble through the array of clutter there. "Seriously?"

"Ooh-ooh," the chirpy voice of Mrs Hudson called from the doorway.

"My secret supply. What have you done with my secret supply?" Sherlock demanded without turning away from the fireplace.

"Eh?"

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"She hasn't done anything with them, Sherlock," Alex said, pulling a face at Mrs Hudson. "He's a little insane at the moment".

"You know you never let me touch your things," Mrs Hudson said, sweeping her arm around at the mess. "Oh, chance would be a fine thing."

Sherlock straightened up, glowering, "I thought you _weren't _my housekeeper."

"I'm not," Mrs Hudson replied, unimpressed.

Sherlock stormed past Alex and Mrs Hudson, picking up his abandoned harpoon and swapping it restlessly from hand to hand.

"How about a nice cuppa? And perhaps you can put away your harpoon," Mrs Hudson suggested.

"I need something stronger than tea. Seven percent stronger…" suddenly, his face changed, and he pointed the harpoon at Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock!" Alex scolded.

"You've been to see Mr Chatterjee again."

"Pardon?"

"Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where _that_ leads, don't we?" he inhaled deeply. "Mm, 'Kasbah Nights.' Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website – you should look it up."

"Please," Mrs Hudson said exasperatedly.

"I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about," he raised his hands with a rueful smile. "Well, nobody except me."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't," Mrs Hudson whimpered, eyes filling with tears as she crossed the room and left to her own flat.

Sherlock shrugged it off, dropping down into his armchair, oblivious to the two glares being sent his way.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" John demanded.

"You don't understand," Sherlock muttered, rocking slightly.

"No, you don't understand that you can't just go around saying stuff like that to people, least of all Mrs Hudson," Alex said angrily.

"Shut up, Alex."

She sent John a 'help me' look.

He set down his newspaper, "Go after Mrs Hudson, and apologise."

"Apologise?" Sherlock repeated incredulously.

John nodded.

"Oh John, I envy you so much," Sherlock sighed.

"This should be good," Alex murmured.

John pursed his lips, leaning back in his chair, "You envy me?"

"Your mind – it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad," he raised his voice to a desperate shout. "I need a case!"

"You've just solved one!" John yelled back. "By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!"

"That was this morning," Sherlock drummed his fingers against the armrest of the chair. "When's the next one?"

"Is there anything on the website?" Alex asked. "There's usually always _something _on."

Sherlock regarded her for a moment with obvious distaste, then got up and retrieved his laptop from the desk. He opened it and handed it to Alex.

She read the article it was open on, and bit down on her lip to stop herself from giggling.

"What?" John asked.

"'Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?'" Sherlock narrated resentfully.

"Bluebell?"

"A rabbit, John!"

"Oh."

"Oh, but there's more," Sherlock said sarcastically. "Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous, 'like a fairy!' according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry…" he trailed off.

"Sherlock?"

"What am I saying?" Sherlock mumbled. "This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Seriously?"

"It's this or Cluedo."

"No, no, no, no," Alex and John firmly said, Alex putting the laptop back on the desk.

"We are never playing that again," John added.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock."

"Here we go."

"Well, it was the only possible solution," Sherlock defended adamantly.

"It's not in the rules."

"Well then the rules are wrong!"

The argument was halted with a single ring of the doorbell. Alex glanced casually over her shoulder.

"Single ring," John said, raising his eyebrows.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second."

"Client," the three of them said simultaneously, one extremely excited, two just downright relieved.

* * *

><p>Alex wasn't really concentrating on the documentary playing on the TV, she had her attention focussed on the new client – Henry Knight. He had lips pressed tightly together and his fingers trembled slightly as he watched. He was obviously disturbed. Alex handed him a chocolate, but he declined. She shrugged and turned back to the TV.<p>

_"Dartmoor. It's always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real? Because Dartmoor's also home to one of the government's most secret of operations: the chemical and biological weapons research centre which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there've been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside?"_

The screen switched to Henry Knight being interviewed. Alex was about to stand up and shout, 'that's you!' but thought Henry didn't look like the joking type.

_"I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor."_

It then showed a picture of a snarling dog drawn by Henry when he was nine.

"You were a good artist," Alex said, knowing that drawing a dog at that age for her would look like a big circle, a smaller circle, and four sticks.

He muttered something close to thanks, but kept his eyes glued on the screen.

"_It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father."_

With a swift press of a button, the TV was turned off, the remote in the hand of Sherlock.

"What did you see?" he asked Henry.

"Oh, I was just about to say…" he pointed to the TV in confusion.

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing."

"Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. Excuse me," he took a napkin out of his pocket and wiped his nose.

"In your own time," John said in a friendly tone.

"But quite quickly," Sherlock added in a much less friendly tone.

Henry lowered the napkin to his lap, licking his lips.

"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr Holmes?"

"No," Sherlock said, sounding bored already.

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of ... bleak but beautiful."

Alex smiled at his description.

"Hmm, not interested. Moving on."

"Ignore him," Alex told Henry. "Carry on."

He looked at her, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, "We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?"

Henry bristled, and Alex and John sent Sherlock, again, more reproachful looks.

"Take your time," Alex told the man, repeating John's words from earlier.

"There's a place – it's... it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow," Henry said, and swallowed. "That's an ancient name for the Devil."

"So?" Sherlock drawled.

"Did you see the Devil that night?" John asked.

Henry's face twisted in remembered pain as he whispered, "Yes… It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. It got him, tore at him, tore him apart. I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

This time when Alex offered him a chocolate, he accepted.

"Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous: dog? Wolf?" John asked Sherlock.

"Genetic experiment?" Sherlock supplied with an amused grin.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Henry set his jaw in anger, "My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously."

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism," Sherlock added.

"Sherlock, shut it," Alex said, shaking her head at him. "Sorry, Henry."

John spoke before Sherlock had a chance to, "Henry, whatever _did_ happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

Henry leant forward, eyes narrowed, "I'm not sure you can help me, Mr Holmes, since you find it all _so funny_."

He stood up and went to leave.

"Henry," Alex called. "Wait, you came here for a reason–"

"Because of what happened last night," Sherlock said, making Henry stop in his action of putting on his coat.

"What happened last night?" John asked.

"How ... how do you know?" Henry breathed.

"I didn't know; I noticed."

"Oh for God's sake," Alex murmured, John nodding in agreement before Sherlock launched into his spiel.

"You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, _extremely_ anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr Knight, and do _please_ smoke. I'd be delighted."

"How on earth did you notice all that?!" Henry exclaimed.

"It's not important," Alex said, but was ignored by Sherlock, of course.

"Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked–"

"Not now Sherlock," John interrupted.

"Oh _please_. I've been cooped up in here for ages," Sherlock whined.

"You're just showing off."

"Of _course_. I _am_ a show-off. That's what we _do," _he turned back to Henry. "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

"How did you know it was disappointing?"

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your _shaking_ fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here," he glanced at his watch. "It's just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?"

"No," Henry replied shakily after an awe-filled pause, and sat back down in the chair. "You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick."

"It's my job," Sherlock stated, leaning forwards. "Now shut up and smoke."

Henry reached into his pocket with a somewhat dumbfounded expression and pulled out a cigarette packet and a lighter, lighting one and putting it to his lips. Alex moved to perch on the desk.

"Um, Henry," John began. "Your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?"

He took a long drag of his cigarette.

"I know. That... my…" he stopped, staring at Sherlock as the detective leant further towards Henry and sucked up the smoke from his cigarette noisily.

Alex raised an eyebrow, "Uh, Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"That must be," John continued, trying to ignore the man "...quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this…"

As Henry exhaled, Sherlock dived in again and hovered up more of the smoke.

"To account for it," John finished.

Henry looked slightly disturbed before speaking, "That's what Doctor Mortimer says."

"Who?"

"His therapist," Sherlock said a beat before Henry said,

"My therapist."

"Obviously," Sherlock said with a fake smile.

"Louise Mortimer," Henry expanded. "She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?"

"It's a strange place, the Hollow," Henry said darkly. "Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid."

"Yes, if I wanted poetry I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier."

John closed his eyes, counting to ten. Alex put her hand on his shoulder with a half-sympathetic, half-amused smile.

"What did you _see_?" Sherlock questioned.

"Footprints – on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart."

"Man's or a woman's?" Alex asked, reading John's notes over his shoulder.

"Neither, they were–"

"Is that it?" Sherlock asked, exasperated. "Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?"

"Yes, but they were–"

"No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr Knight. Thank you for smoking."

"No, but what about the footprints?" Alex asked, sticking up for Henry.

"Oh, they're probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing," he smiled at Henry, getting to his feet and walking into the kitchen. "Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me."

"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" Henry raised his voice in anger and frustration.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, turning back towards them slowly, "Say that again."

"I found the footprints; they were…"

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them," Sherlock demanded, returning to the room.

"Sherlock, what are you going on about?" Alex asked with a frown.

"Henry!" Sherlock prompted.

He thought for a moment, "Mr Holmes… they were the footprints… of a gigantic… hound."

Sherlock digested the words, and an unreadable expression clouded his face as he raised his head.

"I'll take the case."

"What?"

"Sorry?"

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Henry. It's very promising," Sherlock said, his hands steepled under his chin.

"No-no-no, sorry, _what_? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're very promising?" John questioned, startled.

"It's _nothing_ to do with footprints. As ever, you two, you weren't listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it?"

"I remember my old RE teacher talking about it," Alex said. "She didn't seem to know much, though."

"It's very hush-hush," John agreed.

"Sounds like a good place to start."

"Ah! You'll come down, then?" Henry asked, eyes lighting up.

"Apparently so," Alex said, just as confused as John. "Right, Sherlock?"

"No, I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry – putting my best man and woman onto it," he gave John and Alex a sweet smile. "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself, and Alex could do with a holiday."

"What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining - !"

"Bluebell, John! I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" he glanced at a bemused Henry. "NATO's in uproar."

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Henry asked.

Sherlock sighed and shook his head, giving a pointedly forlorn look to John and Alex. John growled lowly and stood up.

"Fine, okay," he said, walking stiffly over to the mantelpiece and lifting up the skull, while Alex looked at her smug uncle in disapproval.

John took the cigarette packet that had been hidden inside the skull and threw them to Sherlock. The detective caught them, then promptly threw them away onto the pile of rubbish.

"I don't need those any more. I'm going to Dartmoor," Sherlock walked to the door, leaving the living room. "You go on ahead, Henry. We'll follow later."

Henry scrambled to his feet, "Err, sorry, so you _are_ coming?"

Sherlock popped his head back through the door, "Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

Then he was gone.

Henry grinned and laughed in disbelief before shaking John and Alex's hand and leaving for Devon.

Alex and John sat in silence for a moment.

"So… we're going to Devon?" Alex asked.

John nodded slowly, "Yep…"

"All of us?"

"I think so."

"Dibs not sharing a room with Sherlock," Alex called, causing John to scowl.

Well, this was going to be something.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: rycbar15, SHER-lockedFan, Guest, Loyal Elf, FlewandFlied, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Rose1414, and emilybrock101!<strong>

**Replies shall be sent to all of you now!**

**Check out the prequel, the next chapter will be out tomorrow.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	97. Hounds of Baskerville - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey, sorry for the wait. German controlled assessments are killing me. I take my hat off to anyone who can speak more than one language fluently. I'm having real trouble. Enough of me complaining anyway. Not much is too different in this chapter, but the next is where things get more interesting. **

**Enjoy: **

_Previously:_

_Henry grinned and laughed in disbelief before shaking John and Alex's hand and leaving for Devon._

_Alex and John sat in silence for a moment._

_"So… we're going to Devon?" Alex asked._

_John nodded slowly, "Yep…"_

_"All of us?"_

_"I think so."_

_"Dibs not sharing a room with Sherlock," Alex called, causing John to scowl._

_Well, this was going to be something._

Alex groaned as she lugged her suitcase over her shoulder and down the steps onto the pavement.

"Jesus, if you wanted to bring a friend along, you should have just said. No need to smuggle them in," John joked.

Alex sent him a glare over her shoulder, wrangling her case into the boot of the cab. She straightened up and wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead.

"Not funny, John," she panted.

"What's even in there?"

"Books, mostly. Revision material."

"It's meant to be a holiday for you," John said. "You should relax."

Alex shook her head, "No, I'll manage to cram some work in. That's if Sherlock doesn't have us clambering over the Devon countryside."

"Oh, I plan on it," Sherlock said, joining them at the cab.

However, before Alex climbed in the backseat, all three jumped at the sound of a loaf being hurled at the door of Speedy's, Mrs Hudson's furious shouting following close behind.

"Oh! Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster," John remarked.

"Mmm. Wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad."

"Pretty sure there's one in Cambridge, or a girlfriend at least," Alex added.

"No, that's his sister."

"Damn," Alex muttered and slid in the backseat.

"Paddington station, please," Sherlock said, and followed suit.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, you're going to fall," Alex warned from the ground, looking up at her uncle.<p>

He had climbed up onto a large stone mound and stood stark against the skyline of the Devon countryside, as Alex had predicted.

"Just saying," she continued at his scoff. "It won't be half as dramatic if the next time you do that, you're in a wheelchair."

He ignored her and continued to stare. Alex turned her attention to John, who was attempting to read a map.

"That's Baskerville," he said, pointing to the military base in the distance.

He rotated the map and pointed behind them.

"That's Grimpen Village," he turned and pointed again to the left of Baskerville. "So that must be Dewer's Hollow."

"What's that?" Sherlock asked, pointing to the fields in between Baskerville and the Hollow.

Alex took up the binoculars around her neck and looked through at the fields. On the map, it was littered with skulls and crossbones.

"Minefield? Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out."

"Clearly," Sherlock muttered.

* * *

><p>The pub they found themselves staying at was quaint and homely, but very full. People crowded every outdoor picnic bench in the beer garden, making the most of the glorious weather.<p>

"We'll go and get drinks," John said, nudging Alex to follow him while Sherlock surveyed the area, popping up his coat collar.

Behind the bar, was a Scottish man who introduced himself as Gary.

"Eh, sorry we couldn't do a double room for you boys," he apologised, handing John two keys and turning to Alex. "And there's your room. It's next to your dads'."

Alex glanced away, knowing she would burst out laughing if she caught sight of John's face.

"We're not," he tried to explain, then gave up, handing him some money for drinks. "There you go."

"Oh, ta. I'll just get your change."

As he walked away, Alex deemed it safe enough to make eye contact with John.

"What is it with people thinking Sherlock and I adopted you?" he asked. "Do I just look gay?"

Alex laughed, "You must be giving off that homo-vibe. Be proud, John, we love you for who you are."

He glared at her, muttering, "I'm _not _gay…"

He trailed off as something on the bar caught his eye.

"What's up?" Alex asked.

John reached out and ripped a receipt from the spike that held it to the bar. He passed it to Alex.

"Look suspicious?"

Alex read the receipt from _Undershaw Meat Supplies, _"I thought this was supposed to be a vegetarian restaurant?"

"Exactly."

Both fell silent as Gary returned with the change, Alex subtly pocketing the receipt.

"There you go," Gary handed the coins to John.

"On the way in, we couldn't help but notice the skull and crossbones on the map of the moor," John said.

"Oh, aye."

"Pirates?" Alex joked.

"Eh, no, no," Gary laughed. "The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it."

"Sounds delightful."

"It's not what you think. It's the Baskerville testing site. It's been going for eighty-odd years. I'm not sure anyone really knows what's there anymore," Gary said.

"Explosives?" John guessed.

"Oh, not just explosives. Break into that place and – if you're _lucky_ – you just get blown up, so they say ... in case you're planning on a nice wee stroll."

"Well, we'll keep that in mind," Alex said with a smile.

"Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound! Did you see that show, that documentary?"

"We watched it just before we came," Alex said, then smirked. "I made Dad and Father watch it."

John kicked the side of her shin and she stifled a laugh.

"Aye. God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell," Gary said, unawares.

"Ever seen it – the hound?" John asked, still glowering at Alex from the corner of his eye.

"Me? No," he pointed out of the door and into the car park, where a young man stood on his phone. "Fletcher has. He runs the walks – the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He's seen it."

"That's handy for trade," John said.

At that moment, the cook appeared from around the bar to stand next to Gary, his nametag showing that he was Billy. Alex gave him a smile but was concentrating on Sherlock, who was stood in the doorway. He motioned to the man known as Fletcher and Alex nodded, mouthing, 'he's seen it'. Sherlock nodded and moved to approach him, at which point, Alex turned back to the bar.

"I'm just saying we've been rushed off our feet, Billy," Gary said.

"Yeah. Lots of monster-hunters. Doesn't take much these days. One mention on Twitter and oomph," he turned to Gary. "We're out of WKD."

"Oh, great," Gary mumbled.

"What with the monster and that ruddy prison, I don't know how we sleep nights. Do you, Gary?" Billy asked.

Gary put both hands on the man's shoulder affectionately, "Like a baby."

Billy gave him a disbelieving look, "That's not true, he's a snorer."

"Hey!" Gary tapped him lovingly on the head and disappeared to the wine cellar.

"Is yours a snorer?" Billy asked John.

"Both as bad as each other," Alex answered before John could. "Don't know how either of them manage to get to sleep with that racket."

"Got any crisps?" John cut Alex off before she could embarrass him further.

* * *

><p>Alex sipped her drink while John rang Henry to inform him that they had arrived, and grinned at him when he had ended the call.<p>

"I'm going to get Sherlock to slap you," John threatened jokingly, taking his drink from her as they walked out the pub door into the beer garden.

"Too chicken to do it yourself?" Alex teased.

"I'd get arrested then Mycroft would crucify me."

Alex laughed as they walked over to Sherlock, who was sat with Fletcher.

"Someone's found a friend," John said to Alex, raising his voice to say to Sherlock. "I called Henry…"

"Sorry John, bet's off," Sherlock interrupted.

"What?"

Alex frowned at him as they sat down.

"Bet?" Fletch asked.

"My plan needs darkness," Sherlock continued, as if he hadn't heard him. "I reckon we've got about half an hour of light left…"

"Whoa, whoa, wait. What bet?" Fletcher demanded.

"Oh, I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound," Sherlock replied casually.

"Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could," John added after a moment.

"It's just too outlandish. I'm with Sherlock on this one," Alex chipped in.

Fletch glared at Alex, pursing his lips, "Well your Sherlock's going to lose his money, sweetheart."

"Yeah?"

Fletch was talking to Sherlock now, "Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind – couldn't make much out."

"I see. No witnesses, I suppose," Sherlock said in that knowingly bored way of his.

"No, but–"

"Never are."

"Wait," he reached into his pocket and took out his phone, proceeding to tap several times and turn the screen to face them. "See."

Alex had to squint in the bright daylight, but managed to make out the image of four-legged, dark-furred animal that greatly resembled a badger. Alex tried to contain her laughter.

"That it?" Sherlock snorted. "Not exactly proof is it? No, sorry John, we win."

"Wait, wait," Fletch scrambled to regain Sherlock's interest. "That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know – to the Hollow. Gives them a ... bad sort of feeling."

"Ooh, is it haunted?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there _is_ something out there – something from Baskerville, escaped."

"What like Dolly the sheep?" Alex said.

"A whole herd of Dollies," John remarked with a snigger.

"No, no, we're dealing with a super dog here," Sherlock said.

"Maybe!" Fletch remained adamant. "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit."

"Who's 'they'?" Alex asked, genuinely curious.

"The government," Fletch said as it was obvious.

Alex thought of Mycroft sat plotting behind his desk, infecting the water with hallucinogens. She almost laughed out loud, "I think they have better things to be doing, to be honest."

"And what would you know about it?" Fletch snapped.

Alex held her hands up, shrugging.

"So that's the best you've got?" Sherlock asked the man. "A blurry photograph and 'bad feelings' from a bunch of tourists? Well, I think my money's safe."

"No," Fletch said quietly, then paused. "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up – well, not 'til late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletch,' he said, 'that I never wanna see again. Terrible things.' He'd been sent to some secret Army place – Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else," he leant in, and Alex found herself leaning in, too. "In the labs there – the really _secret_ labs, he said he'd seen ... terrible things. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs…" he reached into his bag and retrieved something. "The size of horses."

Alex's eyes widened as he brought whatever he was holding onto the table. A paw print, engraved in concrete. But not from a dog. A lion, maybe. Definitely not something you would find in Devon.

Sherlock was silent, he too surprised.

"We did say fifty."

* * *

><p>"This is a bad idea."<p>

"Be quiet, Alex. You're meant to be on my side. I won't have you two ganging up on me," Sherlock said.

"Have you ever thought that when we do gang up on you, it's to stop you doing something stupid and ridiculous?"

"Ridiculousness and stupidity aren't the same thing. Now sit back and put your seatbelt on."

Alex rolled her eyes, but complied, "I really hope a fine for not having my seatbelt on is the most trouble we get into today."

"Highly doubt that," John murmured. "At least you're just staying in the car."

"Hey, I have to distract Mycroft. That's not a job to be taken lightly," Alex said seriously.

"She's right," Sherlock said, turning into Baskerville.

Neither Alex nor John dared speak as the car slowed to a stop in front of a security booth, tall gates separating them from the complex. Alex swallowed as she caught sight of the many, _many _armed personnel.

"Pass, Alex," Sherlock whispered.

She scrambled in her pocket and pulled it out, handing it to him as he wound down the window. The first of many favours Mycroft would be unknowingly granting them that day.

"Thank you," the security guard said, walking to the booth and swiping the pass.

Three painstaking minutes passed.

"Oh, God," John muttered.

"What's the matter?" Sherlock asked.

"Seriously, were you not listening the entire journey over here?" Alex hissed.

"We're going to get caught," John elaborated.

"No we won't – well, not just yet."

"Caught in five minutes. 'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base.' 'Really? Great! Come in – kettle's just boiled.' That's if we don't get shot."

The security guard walked back over to the car, the gates sliding open. He handed the pass back through the window.

"Straight through, sir."

"Thank you," Sherlock said to the man, and began to drive into the complex. "With Alex distracting him, I reckon we have about twenty-five minutes."

"This is one of the most idiotic things you've ever done."

Sherlock ignored him as he parked the car, turning around to face Alex on the backseat.

"Ready?"

Alex sighed, "Guess so."

He gave her a nod before opening the car door and climbing out, John right behind him. Alex watched them intently as a jeep pulled up as they reached the door, and a young corporal jumped out. Alex bit her lip as she watched the exchange, finally letting out a sigh of relief when he opened the door for them. Sherlock turned and gave her the tiniest fraction of a wave before he was gone.

Sherlock had been very clear ith his instructions. Wait for fifteen minutes, then call Anthea, then get her to put her through to Mycroft. No earlier, no later. It was all well and good Sherlock telling her to sit tight, but he didn't wager in the fact that every passing second was accompanied by a clench of the gut and bit of the lip. Still, hand-in-hand was the familiar feeling of adrenaline and rebellion that usually occurred during a scheme with Sherlock.

Finally, it was time to make the call.

"Okay," Alex mumbled to herself and took out her phone, dialling Anthea's number.

The woman answered almost immediately.

"Hi, Anthea. How you doing?" Alex was suddenly very aware of how high pitched her voice sounded.

Did it always sound like that? Was she being too obvious? Was she even speaking English anymore?

_"I'm fine, thanks," _Anthea replied slowly, her tone already suggesting she suspected something. _"Everything okay?"_

"I was just ringing, you know, checking in. Making sure you and Mycroft haven't drowned in paperwork. Bit bored, really," Alex coughed into her hand.

This was harder than she had thought.

_"Shouldn't you be studying?"_

Alex was silent for a moment as a uniformed man walked by. He looked of a much higher status than everyone else, and had a face like a limestone statue left out in the rain too long.

_"… Alex?... Alex!"_

Alex jolted, "Sorry. Yeah, yeah, I've been studying. A-a bit. It's hard being around… Sherlock…"

She frowned as she watched what seemed like a heated discussion between a soldier and the man she had been staring at.

_"What are you doing?"_

"Nothing," Alex replied quickly.

_"You sound very distracted."_

Alex was about to reply when her phone buzzed. She pulled it away from her ear enough to see Sherlock's text.

**Move on from Anthea. Talk to Mycroft. Buy as much time as possible – SH**

"You know, I was actually hoping to speak to Mycroft. Is he around?"

_"There's a call coming in for him, can it wait?"_

Alex froze. No doubt who that call was from.

"Uh no, actually, it can't. I, um, kind of need to speak to him _now. _It's about my… exams._"_

There was a silence of five minutes before the call Anthea sent through was finally picked up by Mycroft's.

_"Alex, what a surprise," _just hearing Mycroft's voice made Alex shrink like she did when she was a little girl and knew she was in trouble.

"Hey," she winced at the shakiness of her voice.

_"Anthea has sent me a message telling me you wanted to talk about your exams. No problems I hope?"_

"Uh," _think, think, think, think, think. _"Actually, there is. I've tried revising but it's just too noisy at Baker Street. Plus, Sherlock set fire to most of my notes."

Well, there was a glimmer of truth there.

_"Alex, I wouldn't worry. You could do these exams when you were eleven."_

"No, but these are the really hard ones for advanced students! This is uni stuff and you've got to admit I haven't really had the most focussed mind recently," Alex rambled. "You know I read online that only twenty percent get in the higher band, and less than one percent managed to get what you and Sherlock got. I won't be able to get that."

_"Alex, don't compare yourself to Sherlock and I. You'll be fine."_

Alex opened her mouth to retort when she caught a wild gesture from the scary soldier across the complex. She watched as his face turned from irritation to blind fury in the space of a few seconds.

"Shit," Alex muttered.

_"Excuse me?!"_

Alex gasped, having forgotten she was on the phone to the stricter of her two parental figures.

"Sorry, I – I sneezed. Um–"

_"Aside from your appalling language, have you got anything else to say? I have a rather important call to take."_

"Wait!"

She didn't mean it to be as loud as it was.

_"… Alex, what are you doing?"_

Dread pulled at Alex's gut as she heard Mycroft's chair scrape back as he stood up, "Nothing."

_"You're doing something, what are you doing? Tell me now."_

He was using that voice. She hated that voice.

"I told you," she insisted somewhat pathetically. "I'm trying to study."

_"Why are you bothering to lie to me? Is Sherlock involved in whatever this is?" _

"I don't know what you're - !"

_"Stop right there. You know where lying to me gets you. This is all Sherlock's doing, isn't it? You wouldn't be so shockingly poor at trying to distract me if this was your own foolish plot."_

"I… I…"

_"Tell. Me. What. You. Three. Are. Doing."_

"Um…" Alex closed her eyes, rushing out. "Bye, Mycroft!"

Before he could reply, she ended the call, cringing. She wasted no time in texting Sherlock.

**Abort! – AH**

The reply was immediate, and even under the circumstances, made her laugh.

**You're fired – SH**

Mycroft tried to call her back; she just kept pressing decline. She folded her arms, biting on her lip nervously, just waiting for a scary armed officer to come over and drag her from the car. When the doors into the building opened, she thought 'this is it, they're coming for me'. Her jaw dropped when Sherlock and John walked out, the former more composed than the latter, and both accompanied by an aging man (scientist, perhaps?).

He bade them goodbye as they reached the car, and Sherlock and John climbed in.

"Well you're useless," Sherlock said before Alex had the chance to speak.

"I distracted him as long as possible. He got the call just as I was finishing talking to Anthea. I bought as much time as I could, but Mycroft knew anyway. You know what he's like – oh and he's ringing me again, brilliant," Alex turned her phone off.

"He's texting me," Sherlock said as he began to drive out.

John leant his head against the window, clearly stressed.

"Come on then," Alex said expectantly. "Tell me everything."

Between the two of them, they filled Alex in on the goings on at Baskerville. She was stunned to find out that Kirsty's bunny had made an appearance and just how many animals they had down there. She was even more surprised when they told her about how they got out.

"So he just told them you were Mycroft, when he knew you weren't?"

John nodded, "I thought we were going to be thrown in one of the animal enclosures. We'd be imprisoned at least if it wasn't for him."

"See," Alex patted Sherlock on the shoulder as he drove. "And all because of the blog. It's not so stupid now, right?"

Alex caught John's smug look from the corner of her eye.

"So, the email from Kirsty – the, er, missing luminous rabbit. It was down there?" Alex asked.

"Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation," Sherlock said.

"She made her daughter's rabbit glow in the dark," John continued.

"Probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen. Simple enough these days."

"So…" Alex nodded to Sherlock to explain.

"So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"

"To be fair," John said. "That's a pretty wide field."

Sherlock hummed his agreement, "It's going to be a long few days."

Alex leant back in her seat with a sigh, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Start from the beginning, tell me everything you know about Chemistry."

As Sherlock launched into his spiel, John couldn't help but repeat his flatmate's words silently to himself: it was going to be a long few days indeed.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Guest, RainbowSilenced akarycbar15, and GeniusGal for reviewing!<strong>

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**X**


	98. Hounds of Baskerville - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry for not having this up sooner but the holidays hasn't panned out how I thought it would. I'm currently laid up in bed ill again. Yey! Also, this is a double chapter because I missed last week's update so has double the content. There is also a warning for violence in this chapter but nothing too graphic. I will put an asterisk where it starts in case you would like to skip it :). **

**Thanks for sticking with me.**

**Enjoy!**

**Previously:**

_Sherlock hummed his agreement, "It's going to be a long few days."_

_Alex leant back in her seat with a sigh, "Sherlock?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"Start from the beginning, tell me everything you know about A-level biology."_

_As Sherlock launched into his spiel, John couldn't help but repeat his flatmate's words silently o himself: it was going to be a long few days indeed._

When they pulled up at Henry Knight's house, the trio didn't move to get out the car. John looked down at the map on his knee in disbelief.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Alex asked, peering up at the mansion-sized house.

John nodded, eyes darting between the house and the map, "This is definitely the address he gave us."

The house was four storeys high, most of which built with stone, but a modern section fitted in the middle, made of modern metal, plastic, and glass. The windows were clouded and little trails of ivy sidled alongside the panes. It could have easily belonged to a family of eight. Surely a house so big couldn't belong to just one man.

However, mid-way through John telling Sherlock he must have missed a turn-in somewhere, Alex spotted the ever nervous face of Henry Knight in one of the downstairs windows.

"There! Wow, this must be his house."

Sherlock sent John a smug look as they got out the car, "I'm not one to get us lost, John."

"I was the one giving you the directions," John muttered.

"That's not the tune you were playing a few seconds ago."

They walked through a worn, run-down conservatory on the front of the house, which was full of wilting plants and broken pots, to knock on the front door. Henry answered immediately.

"Hi," the man said quietly, John and Alex responding likewise.

He glanced at Sherlock, who remained silent.

"Err, come in, come in," he stepped back.

Sherlock wiped his feet on the doormat politely and proceeded through the hall. Alex and John lingered in the doorway, looking around the place in disbelief.

"This is… um…" John trailed off.

"Amazing," Alex finished for him.

"Are you um…?"

"Rich?" Henry asked. "Yeah."

"Right."

Henry gave them a tight smile and led them through the hall Sherlock had walked down and into the kitchen. The further into the house they got, the more impressive it became. Alex raised her eyebrows at Sherlock, looking around the house appreciatively, to which he rolled his eyes.

Henry set to work making coffee, motioning for his guests to take a seat at his island counter.

Alex accepted her cup with a smile, taking it with two sugars and milk.

"So, how are you?" Alex asked.

"There've been some developments," Henry said. "This morning, I was talking to my therapist and I suddenly remembered, after all this time, words. I don't know what they could be, but it must be from that night. It's all I can think about."

Alex noticed Sherlock stop stirring his coffee, trying to act nonchalantly when she knew he was in fact very interested.

"So, what, like a sentence? A name?" Alex asked.

"It's-it's a couple of words. What I keep seeing. 'Liberty'."

"Liberty," John repeated, reaching for his notebook and pen, and jotting down the word.

"'Liberty,'" he nodded. "and… 'in'. Just that. That's it."

"And you have no idea whatsoever what they could mean?"

"None at all," Henry said, obviously frustrated with himself. He picked up the milk from the countertop. "Are you finished with this?"

Alex nodded. He walked over and placed it back in the fridge. Meanwhile, John looked up at Sherlock.

"Mean anything to you?"

"'Liberty in death' – isn't that the expression? The only true freedom," Sherlock replied quietly.

"Well isn't that morbid," Alex mumbled.

Henry turned back to face them from the fridge, rubbing his hands together, "So… what happens now, then?"

"Sherlock's got a plan," John asked more than said, talking more to Sherlock than Henry.

"Yes," Sherlock said brightly.

"Right," Henry smiled.

"We take you back out onto the moor…"

"Okay," Henry's smile faltered.

"… and see if anything attacks you."

John stopped mid-nod, "What?!"

"Are you mental?" Alex reiterated.

"That should bring things to a head," Sherlock replied simply.

"At night?" Henry said calmly enough, but the tremulous undertones in his voice were all too clear. "You want me to go out there at night?"

"Hmm."

"_That's _your plan? Brilliant," he added sarcastically.

"Got any better ideas?" Sherlock asked, irritated.

"That's not a plan."

"If there is a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do. Find out where it lives."

Alex rolled her eyes, "I'll just load up the Mystery Machine while we're at it. Twenty quid on the Hound being the butler in a mask."

Sherlock glared at her, before turning his attention to Henry and giving him an unnerving smile. Henry sighed, then nodded.

"Excellent," Sherlock said as he got to his feet. "There's a few hours left before nightfall so we'll meet up at the pub we're staying at, say 7-ish? See you then."

Alex and John, thanking Henry for the coffee and both giving him a sympathetic grimace, followed Sherlock out the house.

* * *

><p>Later that day, the Cross Keys was bustling.<p>

"You better be right about this being a good idea, Sherlock," Alex said without looking up from her textbook.

"Of course I am," Sherlock scoffed from his seat opposite across the table. "Baskerville turned out to be a success, this plan will be too."

"Be gentle though, Sherlock," John reminded him from his seat beside Alex. "He's in a fragile state of mind and I expect it'll just get worse the closer we get to Dewer's Hollow."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Well I'm staying here," Alex said, running a hand through her hair. "I think I've got chemistry down, but none of these biology books make any sense!"

John pointed to her sketch, "You've got the left atrium and left ventricle mixed up."

Alex regarded the diagram, then groaned and buried her head in her hands, "Oh, of course. That's GCSE stuff. Man, I'm doomed."

John put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Well you won't forget that now."

"And what about the billion other things I _will _forget?" Alex sighed and checked her watch. "Henry should be on his way soon. You two had better get ready."

"We've got everything we need," Sherlock said, motioning to their coats laid across the spare chair around the table.

"No silver bullets?"

"I have a feeling I'll be wanting to use one by the time we get back here," John gave Sherlock a pointed look.

"_If _we get back here," Sherlock said mock-mysteriously.

Alex smirked in amusement, "Oh, Henry's here."

The man had just come through the door when he had spotted them and was making his way over. He had a long dark coat on, not too different from Sherlock's, which highlighted his paler than usual complexion. Alex noticed his hands shaking.

"It's not too late to think of something else," Alex told him as John and Sherlock got to their feet.

Henry shook his head, looking at Sherlock, "No, it-it's what needs to be done."

The corner of Sherlock's lips quirked upwards, "Right you are."

"You'll be okay here?" John checked with Alex.

"Course. That is if I don't set the place on fire when I'm burning my notes," she joked.

"Give yourself a break," John said. "I'll help you with biology tomorrow morning and Sherlock will help you with physics tomorrow night so don't stress too much."

Alex hummed in agreement, "Go on then, go catch a monster."

"Lead the way, Henry," Sherlock said, and they were gone.

Seeing them walk away off on an adventure like that made Alex regret declining the offer for a moment, but then she looked down at the mess of paper plastering the table and thought otherwise. She'd be too busy trying to go over the structure of eukaryotic cells and trip head-first into a nettle patch.

"You want another drink, lassie?" Gary asked as he walked by.

"Any chance I can get away with a WKD?" she asked hopefully.

"Unless you've got yerself a fake ID, no can do," he replied jokingly.

Alex sighed, "Just strong coffee, then."

The next hour – and three cups of coffee, she didn't even like coffee and had to take it with sugar to keep it down – passed slower than Alex ever thought an hour could. Dusk was fully setting in now, giving the pub a grey tinge, making Alex's eyes strain to see the words on her page. She was pretty sure everything she had just revised hadn't gone in at all. The thought was confirmed when she took the end of topic test at the end of the module, and scored four out of twenty. She slammed the book shut in frustration and wished she had gone with Sherlock, John, and Henry.

With a rueful snarl, Alex stuffed the rest of her notes inside her other book, slamming that one shut and gathering them all together in her arms to carry up to her room. The room itself was small, as to be expected from a single bedroom in a B&B. She did have an en-suite, which surprised her.

Alex let the books tumble onto the desk beside the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance when the wind blew through the open window and scattered the notes all over the room. She crossed the room to the window and pulled it shut, pausing for a moment to look out across the moor. Sherlock, John, and Henry were out there somewhere in the forest. She gave a longing moan.

There was no way she would be able to carry on revising. John was right, she needed a break before she was incapable of reading sentences anymore – the point of realisation came when she had spent three minutes pondering which 'their' to use when answering the questions.

She could call Sherlock and meet them at the hollow. It wasn't too far to walk and it wasn't completely dark yet. However, when she looked down at her phone, she remembered that you couldn't get phone reception in the pub. She pulled on her coat and made her way back down to the bar.

"Hey, Billy," she said with a smile. "Where is it did you say you have to walk to get phone signal?"

"Ah, you on Orange Mobile?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, I get reception everywhere but here."

"That's what everyone says. Any other phone network can get it."

"Yeah, my dads can," Alex said, remembering her running joke. "So where do I have to go?"

"Oh, it's about half a mile that way," he pointed behind him. "Just on the road up there."

Alex recognised the directions as that of the rocks Sherlock had stood upon when they had first arrived in Devon.

"You got someone to go with you?" he asked.

"No, but I'll be fine," Alex smiled. "I'm meeting up with people."

"Well stay safe and get a move on. The roads get dark pretty quickly and the streetlights have been switched off up there so the council save money. Load of rubbish if you ask me," Billy shook his head.

"I'll be mindful."

Alex thanked him and was on her way.

Billy was right about the darkness. Ten minutes into her walk, she was losing light rapidly. Eventually, she resorted to using the flashlight on her phone, wondering if she had made the right decision by going out there. The only indication of bends in the road was when her light reflected off the road signs. Only one car passed, and they didn't see her.

Finally, she reached the rocks and grinned when she saw she had one bar of signal – the best she seemed to get around here. She tapped to call Sherlock. He answered after a few seconds.

"Hey, where are you?" Alex asked when he picked up.

_"Where are we, Henry?" _she heard him ask. _"We're just coming up to Dewer's Hollow in a second. Why?"_

"I was going to come and find you. You were right, I need to have a breather. How far away are you?"

_"Are you at the reception point?"_

"Yup."

_"We're about ten minutes' walk from there."_

"Right, well I'm…"

_"Wait…"_

Alex frowned, "Sherlock?"

_"Shh!" _there was a pause. _"Mr Holmes?" _Henry's voice. Scuffling. A gasp. More scuffling… a growl.

"Sherlock, what was that?" Alex asked, worry evident in her voice. "Sherlock?"

He didn't answer.

_"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God."_

Henry's voice again.

"Henry?" Alex called. "John? Sherlock? Someone tell me what's going on!

The phone line disconnected, leaving Alex staring at her mobile and breathing heavily. She tried to call him again but there was no answer. And again. Again, he wasn't answering. Neither was John.

She took a moment to compose herself. She was overreacting. Closing her eyes, she tried to convince herself it was just the bad connection and that coming out here was a bad idea. She just needed to her room and wait for them to come back.

Alex looked the way she had come, but as she was about to head back, she heard something that made her stop.

A howl in the distance.

Not a bird call. Not the sound of a fox.

A howl. The word HOUND was flashing in her mind.

"SHERLOCK!" Alex yelled as loud as she could across the moor. "JOHN! HENRY!"

It was stupid. They wouldn't be able to hear her. But that meant, if they were in trouble, _she _wouldn't be able to hear _them. _She tried calling again, to no avail. Perhaps if she walked down, keeping to the outskirts of the wood so she didn't get lost, she would catch them on the way out and make sure they were okay.

"And if they're not okay?" Alex muttered aloud.

… She'd cross that bridge if she came to it.

It wasn't that much of a walk, and the path down to the wood was straight, allowing her light to illuminate quite far in front of her. The lights from nearby Baskerville also provided some assistance. She stopped at the fringe of the wood, wanting to shout but not really daring to when she looked into the darkness.

She gathered up the courage and yelled, "Sherlock!"

No reply came back.

What Alex didn't know was that by garnering the light given off by Baskerville's security, she had wandered too far towards the complex, and Sherlock, John, and Henry were all the way at the other side of the wood, already making their way back to Grimpen Village.

Alex perched herself on a boulder, shivering from a mixture nerves and the cold. Minute after minute passed, and she kept calling and kept getting Voicemail, her one bar of signal running out completely. At the three quarters of an hour mark, Alex vowed that if they didn't show their faces or called her back in the next five minutes, she was going in to find them.

Of course, five minutes passed as uneventfully as the forty five before it, and Alex got to her feet, took a deep breath, and entered the wood, keeping her phone tightly in front of her. She stumbled several times, preferring to keep the light at eye level rather than ground level. She had started off shouting their names. Her shouts decreased to a call, then to a whisper, then ceased altogether.

She was scared. She had been so stupid by coming out here, and even stupider for walking in the forest instead of just going back. She'd done a lot of ridiculous things without a good enough reason to justify them in previous years, but she was older now. She was supposed to be responsible and her days of gallivanting off into dangerous situations that could have easily been avoided were supposed to be over.

_There's nothing dangerous in here, _she thought to herself. _This isn't the Blair Witch Project. Monsters and werewolves and gigantic, feral hounds don't exist._

That thought comforted her. She didn't believe in the supernatural. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't, and they gave pretty damn good reasons why. The only danger in the wood was if she tripped and hit her head while too panicked to see where she was going. That in mind, she forced herself to calm down and concentrate on the path in front of her.

She walked for a few minutes, making sure to memorise the route she had taken and only go in a straight line so she could easily find her way back even in the dark. Every time she thought she heard the snap of a twig or a rustle of movement in the undergrowth, she vehemently repeated her previous thought to herself. Monsters weren't real, just like her uncles used to tell her when she was barely a toddler.

There were more rustles.

_It's probably just a deer_.

Like when she had escaped the funhouse and was running from Moran. She had thought he had found her but it had just been an innocent sleeping doe.

She suddenly wished she hadn't had that thought. All English woods looked the same in the dark. She could easily be back there, that night, scrambling around in the darkness with Moran close behind her, not knowing where, but knowing he was definitely there.

"Shut up," Alex muttered to herself.

And where Moran was, Moriarty wasn't far behind. She kept thinking of him. Dodging through the trees with his Westwood suit, letting Moran scout ahead. The bloodhound to bring back the kill.

"Shut up," Alex repeated.

Her footsteps quickened, along with her heartrate.

"Sherlock!" she shouted, dipping down into a large depression in the forest floor.

She was barely aware of the mist around her. Was this Dewer's Hollow? Someone was watching her. She could feel it.

"Sherlock!" she tried again shakily. "Sherlock, where are you!?"

_Moran can't be here, he can't be. Neither's Moriarty. They aren't here._

But who was behind her? She turned on her heel, hair slicing the air as she did so. There was no one. She turned back and back again, looking for the eyes she knew where burning into her.

"Sherlock!"

Cracking of twigs.

"Please just leave me alone," Alex pleaded, close to tears.

She felt so frightened. She didn't even know why.

More cracking. Footsteps. Mist. Someone behind her. Someone close.

"SHERLOCK!" she screamed. "SHER - !"

A hand clamped over her mouth, the other gripping her torso, constricting her movements. Alex thrashed wildly, screaming against the hand, trying as she might to overpower the person holding her.

"Stop it, Alex, stop!"

She knew that voice but didn't dare stop fighting. He pulled her around by the shoulders and pressed his fingers into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.

"Look at me!"

She didn't stop fighting, screeching 'no! no! no!' in a mantra. A sharp slap across her cheek shut her up and allowed her clarity enough to take in the features of her captor. She gasped.

"You have to get out of here," William said urgently, breathing as heavily as she was. He looked so scared. "Now, it isn't safe."

Alex stood there, shocked, "What are you doing here?"

He pulled her along, "Come on, hurry."

She wriggled out of his hold, "William, why are you here? Were you following me?"

Every part of her was shaking, tears still falling down her face. Why was she still crying?

William walked back over, leaning forward closely to her, "He's here."

Alex knew who he meant. She shook her head, more tears tumbling as she whispered, "He can't be."

"Moran, Alex, he's here," William said. "We need to leave now, I have to keep you…"

His eyes flickered up from Alex's, terror unlike anything Alex had seen on him before etched plainly in every inch of his composure. Without warning, he pulled Alex roughly behind him, holding her to his back. She clung onto his shoulder, facing who William was protecting her from.

He was there. In all his sniper-wielding, bloodstained, crazed glory, stained knife in hand. His sniper rifle was strapped onto his back. With a wolfish grin, he shrugged it off his shoulder and threw it down on the ground. As it fell, Alex's grip on William intensified. More tears, more shaking, and the faster and faster her heart was beating.

"I was going to take you out earlier – with that," he pointed to the discarded sniper rifle. "But then I thought, you gave me the honour of doing it up close, so I'll use this instead."

It was the same knife from that night.

"Seb, leave her," William said warningly.

"Why?"

"She's not like us."

"She's _exactly _like us. Aren't you?" Moran took a step towards them.

Alex and William took one back.

"She's like her dad," Moran mocked.

"I'm not like him," Alex choked out.

"Seb, Jim doesn't–"

Moran's attention snapped from Alex to William, "YOU DON'T GET TO SPEAK ABOUT JIM!"

Alex felt William tense even more.

"YOU BETRAYED US AFTER EVERYTHING WE DID FOR YOU! EVERYTHING _HE _DID FOR YOU!" Moran stood, panting. His mouth parted to let out a sardonic chortle, "And all because she reminded you of your sister. You pathetic bastard."

William was silent for a moment before speaking, and when he did, each word was heavy with resentment and anger, "Clearly, this is about you and I. So let's figure this out man to man. You don't need Alex."

Moran shook his head with a laugh, "This is about _both _of you! Now step forwards, without the girl."

William didn't move.

Moran's eyes flashed, "Step. Forwards. Like you said, man to man."

Still, William remained rooted to the spot.

There was a tense moment before Moran _tsk_ed, disappointed, "There used to be a time when strapping young Will wouldn't back down from anyone. Least of all little old me. Guess the thought of your sister made you soft. I'll tell you something, she never made _me _soft. No, that one time I saw her, _beautiful _she was. What I would give to have her in–"

Before Alex could even comprehend what was happening, William had shot out from her grasp, hurling himself at Moran. Alex screamed his name as the two fell into the mist, out of sight.

Then everything went silent. Not even a crunch of twigs or rustle of leaves. Not the wind or the heartbeat that had been thudding in Alex's ears since she had entered the forest. Vacuum-like. Then, once the sound was gone, everything went blurry, like someone was messing with TV controls. Trees melted into indistinguishable blobs as the mist took over, turning everything swirling and grey.

Was she moving? Or floating? Standing still? No, moving.

She could vaguely feel the shape of something in her hand, and something cutting the skin on the side of her torso. But no pain. Just the feeling of someone tearing away meat from a hog-roast, where she was the hog. It just peeled away. Clean. Surgical.

The inside of her head felt like it was expanding, but the outside staying the same shape, swelling and swelling until the pressure was almost too much –

Then everything was back. The sound. The colours. The objects.

She was kneeling, face peppered with raindrops – when had it rained? Moran stood in front of her, panting.

"He's waited a long time to do that," a voice said from behind her, but she didn't turn to look.

Her eyes were glued on the motionless figure sprawled between her and Moran. His hair was matted with mud and twigs, blood staining every fibre of his shirt. His eyes were closed.

"He's not sleeping," Alex said distantly.

"No," the voice replied.

Alex brushed a smudge of dirt from William's cheek as she felt someone kneel behind her. The person behind her took hold of the back of her hand, entwining their fingers to manipulate hers. His hands were gentle against hers.

"You wanna play puppets, Alex?"

"Like the farmer?" she asked in that faraway voice that didn't belong to her. "In the barn?"

She turned her face ever-so-slightly to look the man knelt closely behind her.

Jim smiled, moving their hands to the knife protruding from William's chest, "Just like the farmer in the barn. Now, how's your biology coming along?"

Alex cocked her head at the corpse, "It's gone through his left ventricle, not the atrium. John told me not to get them mixed up."

"Good girl," he praised. "He's a good teacher. But I'm going to teach you a more important lesson."

"What?" Alex asked, a smile lighting up her paper-white, stained face.

"I'll help you to start with," he curled their fingers around the hilt of the knife and yanked. It came out smoothly. He grinned at Alex, using his free hand to haul her to her feet.

Alex looked at the knife in their connected hands.

She didn't shiver or try to squirm free when Jim leant forward and whispered in her ear, "He killed him, Alex. He killed William. How does that make you feel?"

Alex stared at Moran, eyes blurry with yet more tears, emotion suddenly hitting her as she ground out, "Angry."

"Good," Jim cooed. "Good."

"You want to make him hurt like he hurt William?" Jim asked.

Alex nodded vehemently.

"You want revenge. Kill him."

Alex stopped nodding, suddenly unsure, "I can't."

"You can," Jim urged. "I'll help."

"You will?"

"I always will," he tapped her head with his free hand. "I'm up here, Alex. Your name is Holmes but your mind is a Moriarty. I do the things you think you aren't capable of. But you are, Alex. You're capable of anything. You're capable of murder."

"If I'm with you," Alex said, entranced.

"If you're with me," he confirmed.

She was walking forwards, away from Jim's touch, claiming the knife in her hand alone, stepping over William's lifeless body.

"And you're part of me."

Jim smiled tenderly, "Yes."

She stopped in front of Moran. His brows were drawn in confusion.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked.

Alex smiled, a full, serene smile, glancing back at Jim, "… me."

She then pulled back her elbow, Moran managing an alarmed shout before Alex thrust the knife into his chest, fracturing ribs and finally piercing his heart. Left ventricle. Not the atrium.

As soon as the blade made contact, Alex's stupor was broken. The smile fell from her face, morphing into a scream as she fell down with Moran's weight, his body falling on her. Blood seeped onto her clothing, smothering her hands and face. She scrambled from beneath him, heart hammering as she stood.

_I just killed a man. I just… _killed_… a man. Oh, my God. No, oh no, please, no._

She spun on her heel. Moriarty. But he wasn't there.

_He's part of me. He's inside me._

"No! No, NO!" Alex screamed.

_Run! Quick, run as fast as you can._

She did, hurdling over Moran's body and scampering up the edges of the hollow, using roots and stones to pull herself up. She sprinted, crying as she did so, holding her side where she knew a gash laid, but couldn't feel any pain, just blood bubbling between her fingers. She managed to keep going for five minutes before she was too hysterical to keep upright. She fell onto the forest floor, curling into a ball and sobbing.

After a few minutes, her phone rang.

She frowned, rubbing her eyes and answering the call.

_"Alex, where are you?" _it was John.

"John," her voice cracked. "I-I'm at the hollow. I t-tried to find you."

_"Are you okay?"_

"Where are _you?" _she deflected the question.

_"On the moor. I was checking something out when Sherlock rang and told me you weren't in your room. Can you find your way out of the wood?"_

Alex looked around herself and saw the lights from Baskerville, "Yes."

_"Okay, I'll meet you there."_

She ended the call and stuffed her phone in her pocket. How was she going to tell John? How was she going to tell Sherlock? Or Mycroft? They would never look at her the same way again. She would never be able to look in a mirror again.

It was like she still had the knife in her hand. She could feel her fingers wrapped around the hilt. The feeling of it puncturing the skin, making the sound of cutting leather.

Alex looked down at her hands.

And gasped.

They were clean. Not a drop of blood on them. Eyes wide in astonishment, Alex lifted up the side of her jumper and inspected her skin. All that remained was the faded scar from last year. She hesitantly brushed her fingers over her cheeks, but no bloody handprint remained.

"What…?" Alex murmured.

Shakily, she got to her feet. The only stains on her clothes were from mud and grass.

**Where are you, I'm waiting at the edge of the wood – JW**

**I'm coming – AH**

Alex walked towards the light, trying to wrap her head around whatever madness this was. Sherlock and Mycroft had always taught her that there was a reasonable explanation for anything that happens in the world. Her mother was more of an idealist, but Alex had never been that way – her uncles had corrupted her too early for that. Sagaciousness was a trait Alex was proud to possess.

That been said, the number of logical explanations for this was very thin on the ground. Non-existent even.

When she reached the end of the trees, John was stood waiting a little way from her. He came over when he saw her, noticing her dishevelment.

"What happened?" he asked. "You look white as a sheet."

"I, um," _try not to sound too mental, _she thought. "Fell. Y-you know what it's like in there in the dark."

They turned to walk back to Grimpen Village, talking as they did so, Alex not paying too much attention, unable to take her mind off what happened. Or didn't happen.

Amicable conversation carried them most of the way until Alex told John what had happened after they left the pub.

"You shouldn't have come out here on your own," John reprimanded as they walked.

"Is Sherlock angry at me?"

"Uh, no, he's not angry at you, you're fine."

Alex noticed the bristle in his voice and the slight clench of his jaw when Alex mentioned her uncle.

"What's he done?"

John sighed, "We got split up, he and Henry went to the hollow and Sherlock thinks he saw the hound."

Alex stopped, eyes widening, "_Sherlock _saw the hound?"

"He _thinks _he did," John replied when Alex continued walking.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, there's no way he could have. Things like that don't exist. I thought you'd be the first to say that."

"So what's your theory? Sherlock wouldn't say he's seen something if he hasn't, especially something like this."

"You know how he's been these past few weeks. It might have been quite amusing to us at times, but we of all people know how crazed his mind can get. I think he's just gone out in the dark and gotten himself worked up. I mean, it can happen to anyone. With the amount of pressure _you're_ putting yourself under with all this revision, I'm surprised _you_ don't see hounds asking for beers at the bar," he joked.

Alex laughed lightly, falling silent soon after and pondering on the doctor's words. It could have just been that. Even PTSD perhaps. Last year had been one of the most traumatic things of her life, putting herself back in that environment could have evoked emotions and memories that she didn't have control over. That amplified by current stress and being alone in a scary place could have caused whatever that was.

But it had seemed so real…

They had reached Grimpen Village and were walking back to the pub whilst John told Alex about his 'Morse code' fiasco – where it was in fact that flashing headlights of a car in a dogging site. She had giggled when he tried halfway through to censor himself, assuring him that sex wasn't a notion unfamiliar to her. It felt nice to laugh with John, he took her mind off things, somehow being able to reassure her without actually talking about the topic. It was one of the reasons she knew he was so good for her uncle.

"Where's Sherlock?" Alex asked when they arrived at the bar.

"By the fire round the corner," John said, tone suddenly dropping a few degrees. "I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you in the morning. No midnight strolls."

She smiled at him as he left up the stairs to the rooms, then went to find Sherlock. He was sat, as John said, by the fire, glass of scotch in hand, staring into the flames. Alex didn't say anything to him, she just sat in the chair opposite.

It was a few moments later when he spoke.

"You've been to the hollow."

Alex nodded, "Yes."

"It was stupid of you to go alone."

"I was meant to meet you there. I rang you, remember. I said I was on my way down when you hung up on me. I was worried so I went to find you, by which time you'd gone. I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done if our positions were reversed," Alex said, without anger.

Sherlock fell silent again, blinking several times and taking another swig of scotch.

It took three attempts for Alex to find the right words – and the right tone in which to say them – next, "So… John tells me you've seen the hound."

She hoped her tone was nonchalant enough. Apparently not as Sherlock frowned and made eye contact for the first time that night.

"Yes... have you?" he watched her face carefully, something she had grown extremely accustomed to.

"No," she replied firmly.

He regarded her in silence for a minute, "You've seen something tonight."

"Don't," she mumbled, shoulders slumping.

"There's dirt all over you, under your fingernails especially," he ploughed on regardless. "You didn't just fall or your palms would bear the brunt and you wouldn't have as much under your nails. The knees of your jeans are torn, your favourite jeans, yet you don't seem too concerned about them. Why? Because you're too occupied thinking about something else. Something that makes ruining your favourite trousers seem trivial. Then there's your face, pale – even more than usual. You've tucked the left corner of the inside of your lips between your teeth. Ah, look, you're pouting now because you know I'm right."

"I don't pout–"

"You do a tiny bit, everyone does. And when you're withholding something or thinking about something unpleasant, you press your lips together more tightly than usual. Your eyebrows are also lower than usual. You want to frown but don't want to bring any attention to the fact that you're uncomfortable. Would you like me to go on?"

"Please don't," Alex said wearily, resting her head on her hand, which was tucked up on the armrest.

Sherlock leant forward, "What did you see?"

Alex took a breath, saying casually, "A man. But it doesn't matter because it wasn't real. John's right, I'm stressed and it was frightening and I got worked up. Like you."

"What man?" Sherlock pressed.

"I told you it doesn't matter. He was never there."

"How can you know?"

"Because he couldn't have been!" Alex said loudly, then looked around and lowered her voice to a normal volume. "And I'd have blood on me if it had actually happened. That is proof."

Sherlock waited a beat, "Moriarty?"

Alex gave him a look of 'what do_ you_ think?' and turned her eyes to the flames in the fireplace, just beginning to burn out. People were beginning to filter out of the restaurant now, seeing as it was nearing midnight.

She glanced at Sherlock as he uncapped the scotch bottle and poured a small amount into a glass. He handed it to Alex.

"Barely half a finger there," she said, taking the glass.

"You can have more when you're eighteen."

"Won't be long," Alex said. "Only two years."

"I know."

There was something of a hint of sadness in the way he said it that made Alex give him a half-smile.

"Then I'll be moving out and finding my own flat somewhere," her face turned downcast. "Then I'll have to get a job. Unless I can scrounge off Mycroft and tag along on cases with you and John. I hope Mycroft won't mind."

"He won't. You told us your plan when you were three. We've been expecting it."

Alex laughed, "Really? I must have been a nightmare child. I apologise for you having to cope with me for this long."

"You were easier to take care of then."

Alex looked offended.

"Just drink your whiskey."

She smiled at him and drank the tiny mouthful he had given her. She screwed up her face.

"It never gets nicer does it?"

"No," he said, taking it back, refilling it, and taking another drink himself.

"I should probably be going to bed," Alex said, getting up with a sigh. "Been a long and… _weird_ day."

"How would you feel about us going back to Baskerville tomorrow?" he asked before she left.

"I won't have to distract Mycroft again will I?"

"No. I have another job for you."

Alex raised an eyebrow, "Good job?"

"Go round to Henry's house and steal me some sugar in the morning."

"Sugar?"

He gave her a look that plainly said 'don't question it', so she let it drop.

"I've got a job for you in return," she said instead.

"Hmm?"

"Make up with John, I don't like it when my dads fight," she said with a laugh, garnering a small smile from her uncle. "'Night."

It seemed she had completed the job given to her by John earlier that night.

_"Just see if you can cheer Sherlock up, eh?"_

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so the whole scene with Moran was all in Dewer's Hollow so didn't actually take place but I wanted to use it to show what is going on in Alex's head with the relationship she has with Moriarty, or the Moriarty side of her, the part that she's afraid of having.<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, TheCurlyGal6218, RainbowSilenced, Guest, and POTC misty potter temple for reviewing!**

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**Abby**

**x**


	99. Hounds of Baskerville - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Shrlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey, back in the wifi cafe! I hope you enjoy this chapter, only one more left until HOB is finished.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Sugar?"_

_He gave her a look that plainly said 'don't question it', so she let it drop._

_"I've got a job for you in return," she said instead._

_"Hmm?"_

_"Make up with John, I don't like it when my dads fight," she said with a laugh, garnering a small smile from her uncle. "'Night."_

_ It seemed she had completed the job given to her by John earlier that night._

_"Just see if you can cheer Sherlock up, eh?"_

True to her word, Alex got up early the next morning and sent a text to Henry to see if he was up and if she could pop round. When he answered in the affirmative, she set off, bidding goodbye to a Sherlock that was so deep in thought at the bar that he didn't notice her.

She had expected the man to be shaken by the events yesterday, but when he answered the door, Alex couldn't help a gasp.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He looked terrible as he rubbed a shaking hand over his pale face.

"No, actually I didn't sleep well."

"After what happened? What, flashbacks?" she guessed as he let her in.

He shrugged, "Sort of… not really. I don't know."

He led her into the kitchen and collapsed into one of the high chairs at the island counter. Alex regarded him closely.

"Have you spoken to your therapist?" she asked.

"No, she's away. Family emergency... Nope, all on my own," he said with a bitter smile.

"No, you aren't," Alex said seriously. "Coffee? You look pretty tired, might wake you up a bit."

"It'll be the third one this morning."

"Meh," Alex shrugged, pointing to one of the cupboards. "This one?"

He pointed to the one next to it, "How's Sherlock?"

Alex paused for a moment in pulling down the coffee jar, "He's… fine. A little shaken but he's okay now."

"Did he say anything about the hound?"

"No," Alex replied sketchily. "Not really. He, um, doesn't believe he saw it."

Henry put his head in his hands, not noticing Alex wrapping up some sugar in a plastic food bag and slipping it into her pocket.

"He saw it," he mumbled through his fingers. "Why, why's he doing this? To make me feel even more insane?"

"You aren't insane, Henry," Alex said gently, flicking the kettle on to boil. "I know insane when I see it and I don't see it when I look at you. I think either you're right, there's something that resembles a hound out there, or someone's playing a cruel joke. Either way, we're going to find out before we leave and you can move on with your life."

"And if it _is _all in my mind?" Henry asked as she handed him his coffee.

"Then you should become an author. Your imagination is obviously brilliant," she said positively.

He managed a small smile at that, "Are you not having one?"

"Coffee isn't really my thing. Self-confessed tealeaf. I should probably be getting back to The Cross Keys anyway."

However, she noticed the way Henry's mug was shaking, eyes darting to the big bay windows into the garden and was hesitant to leave him in that state.

"I can come round later, if you'd like," she suggested. "I know what it's like when you don't really want to be alone but don't want to ask someone to stay."

He shook his head, "I wouldn't want to put you out. You probably have things to do."

"It's no problem. We can talk. It sometimes gets better after you talk."

"Only sometimes?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Alex thought back to the funhouse, "Yeah, only sometimes. Other times it's better to try and forget."

"How old are you?" Henry asked in mild amusement.

"Mentally or physically?"

"Both?"

"Mentally, 40. Physically, 16."

He chuckled slightly, "I'd appreciate the company. Especially now Doctor Mortimer isn't here."

She smiled at him, "I'll see you later, then."

* * *

><p>Alex put up her feet on the stool at the other side of the table as she was eating her toast back at the pub. Billy had taken a special liking to her and had given her a second lot of toast for free. She wasn't complaining, their toast could rival John's.<p>

However, just as she was taking the last bite, she choked, eyes wide on the doorway.

"What the hell are _you _doing here?"

Detective Inspector Lestrade, dressed in casual clothes for once, walked up to the bar, a familiar dog at his heel.

"Chuck?"

The cocker spaniel from the 'Pronged Puppeteer' seemed to recognise her and wagged his tail madly.

"Alex!" Greg exclaimed. "Fancy seeing you here!"

She got to her feet, her toast now abandoned, "What…? Why…?"

Greg stooped down and stroked Chuck's head, "I changed my mind when I picked him up from yours to take to a shelter. He lives with me and the boys now."

Alex knelt beside him and kissed his nose, which he seemed to like.

"That wasn't really what my question corresponded to but oh well. So is this purely coincidence or…?"

"What the hell are _you _doing here?" Sherlock demanded, marching in the door from the car park.

Greg smiled, motioning between Alex and her uncle, "You two are so similar. I'm on holiday, would you believe."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Hello, John," Greg turned to John, who leant against the bar.

"Greg! And… Buck?"

"Chuck," Alex corrected.

John patted the dog's head, "Good boy. You don't go around terrorising people, do you?"

"Unless by people you mean the guinea pigs," Greg said. "I heard you were in the area. What are you three up to? You after this Hound of Hell like on the telly?"

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector," Sherlock said curtly. "Why are you here?"

"I've told you, I'm on holiday."

"You're brown as a nut," Sherlock said impatiently. "You're clearly just back from your 'holidays'."

"Yeah, well maybe I fancied another one," Greg defended.

"Oh," Sherlock's face cleared in recognition, turning to annoyance. "This is Mycroft isn't it?"

"No, look–"

"One mention of Baskerville and he sends my handler down to… to spy on me incognito. Is that why you're calling yourself _Greg?"_

John turned to him with a frown, "That's his _name."_

Sherlock looked genuinely confused, "Is it?"

Alex laughed, letting Chuck lick her cheek.

"Yes – if you'd ever bothered to find out," Greg muttered. "Look I'm not your handler and I don't just do what your brother tells me."

"Actually… you could be just the man we want," John said.

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"Alex, have you still got that receipt?" John asked, ignoring Sherlock.

"Um," she checked in her pockets. "Yep!"

She pulled it out of her jacket, along with twenty pence and some earphones, and handed it to John. He showed Sherlock.

"Here. Didn't know if it was relevant; starting to look like it might be. That is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant."

Sherlock smirked, "Excellent."

John looked to Greg, "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy."

Alex pressed down on the bell on the bar as John yelled, "Shop!"

"Here, can you take Chuck?" Greg asked.

Alex nodded, "Of course! I'll take him into the field outside."

She took his lead, wished them luck, and proceeded to the field, Chuck at her heels. He found a thick stick and brought it to her. She unclipped his lead and threw it for him, and again, and again, and again, and again, until Alex's arm and Chuck's legs were too tired to carry on. Then she sat down in the grass, letting him lie out beside her, four legs in the air. She rested her hand on his belly.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?"

There was something so therapeutic about running her hands through his hair, over the curve of his body. She must have laid there stroking him for at least an hour for Greg soon came out, looking at her in amusement. A Chuck caught sight of his owner, he immediately broke away from Alex and bounded over to greet him. Greg held open his arms for the dog and scruffed his head.

"Good boy, Chuck. Good boy," he murmured as Alex handed him his lead. "Hope you haven't tired him out too much, I was going to take him out over the moors."

"Stay away from Dewer's Hollow," Alex said seriously.

"You don't really believe in all that?"

"Not the hound. I just think it isn't a nice place to find yourself. Anyway, what happened in there?"

Greg sighed and filled her in.

Alex tutted, "I had them down as good people."

"They are, you know how people can get when it comes to money and business."

"So what are Sherlock and John doing now?"

"They're just out the front in the car park."

"I'd better go and see what the plan is. See you, Lestrade. I mean, Greg."

He laughed, "Yeah, I'm off duty now, Holmes. Catch up with you three later. Come on, boy."

Chuck stayed at his heel as Alex waved and made her way to the car park. Sherlock and John, as Lestrade had said, were stood talking in the pub doorway.

"Hey, you two. Greg just told me about Billy and Gary. Was that the dog people saw on the moor, then?" she asked.

"Looks like it," Sherlock said.

"But that wasn't what _you _saw," John said. "That wasn't an ordinary dog."

"No," Sherlock said distantly. "It was immense, had burning red eyes. And it was glowing, John. Its whole body was _glowing."_

Alex suddenly remembered the sugar, "Oh, I have the–"

"Thanks, I'll get it in a bit," Sherlock interrupted with a subtle yet pointed glance at John.

Alex frowned but kept quiet.

"So what happens now?" John asked, oblivious to the exchange that had just occurred between the two Holmeses.

"I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it."

"How? We can't pull off the ID trick again."

"Might not have to," Alex said, raising her eyebrows.

Sherlock caught on to what she was thinking, "No, definitely not."

"Oh, come on, grow up!"

"_No!"_

"Fine, I'll call him," Alex took Sherlock's phone from his pocket before he could react and pressed the speed dial for Mycroft's number.

Her uncle tried to retrieve his phone, but Alex ducked.

_"Sherlock, what do you want?"_

"Hello, uncle dear, how _are _you?"

Mycroft sighed, _"What, Alex?"_

"Sherlock wants to talk to you."

She handed the phone to Sherlock, who glared at her venomously before snatching the phone and putting it to his ear.

John sent her an amused look and she high-fived him.

"Right, I'm off to Henry's. His therapist isn't in town and I thought I might be able to calm him down a bit. Might even see if I can coax anything else out of him," Alex said.

"Be careful," John warned. "He isn't stable at the moment."

"I'll be fine," Alex brushed off, mouthing goodbye to Sherlock – who was arguing with Mycroft – and giving John a smile.

* * *

><p><em>Henry looks even worse than this morning, <em>Alex thought as she sipped her tea.

"I don't usually have it in," Henry said. "I had to go to the shop. I hope it's okay for you."

"It's great," Alex assured him. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble. I would have been fine with water."

It seemed Henry couldn't bring himself to smile as he leant back into the sofa. Alex saw the corner of a duvet peeking out from underneath it.

"Did you sleep down here last night?" she asked.

He nodded, "I tried to. Didn't really work out. Or it did and I was lucid dreaming but I'm sure I wasn't."

"I was once lucid in a dream," Alex said, trying to make Henry relax a little. "I dreamt I was at a swimming pool and everyone was too scared to jump of the highest diving board so I remember making the conscious decision to climb out the pool and up the ladder to the board. I looked down on everyone and I could barely make out their faces I was so high up. Then I jumped."

"Sounds scary."

"It was awesome," Alex grinned as she remembered it. "Could never do it since though. Even tried hypnotising myself. I think I just succeeded in looking like a mental patient instead of Derren Brown."

Henry laughed and hesitantly launched into a story about his friend being picked from the audience during a Derren Brown show, which Alex then followed with her thoughts on audience participation, which was followed by Henry telling a story about being picked as a child to be a volunteer for the circus, which Alex followed with her memories of the circus and being with her uncles.

The pair didn't seem to notice the time passing by until it was five o'clock.

"I'll go and make us some sandwiches. You like ham?"

"Mm-hmm," Alex said, going over to the glass doors leading out into the garden as Henry went to the kitchen.

She wondered how often Henry actually left the house. It did feel like she was standing in a tormented man's prison. That thought troubled her as she nibbled on her sandwich, her appetite suddenly gone.

"I have a feeling you aren't here to compare our childhood stories," Henry said, breaking the silence. "I'm guessing you're more interested in just one of them."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," Alex admitted.

"If you think you can help me remember something, great, but if you're trying to see if I'm hiding anything, you're wrong. I've told you all I can remember and all I know."

"I know," Alex said quickly. "I just want to help."

"I don't think you can."

"Because I'm younger than you?" Alex challenged. "I've been through my fair share, too. Stuff I wish I couldn't remember."

"So what, you're going to help me remember to help yourself forget?"

"I don't think it works like that."

"No, it doesn't," Henry took a breath, calming himself. "So how do you propose we do this?"

"Try closing your eyes and lying down. Then imagine yourself being nine again and walking next to your dad in the woods. You've been there enough times to imagine the sounds and smells and feelings associated with the hollow. Then just play through the events that happened that night exactly as you remember them. Remember any inconsistencies you notice and we'll work from there," Alex suggested.

"You realise how many times I've tried this with Dr Mortimer."

"I'm not a doctor. Just a regular person with no special talents or training. It might make a difference."

"I doubt that."

"Just try."

His hands shook as he spoke, licking his lips repeatedly. Alex looked on in concern.

"Would you like a glass of water?" she asked.

He shook his head, clearing his throat, "N-no, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

His eyes kept straying to the window, out into the garden, "Actually, can, um, can we do this somewhere else. The other room."

"You don't like seeing the garden?"

But Henry was already on his feet and out the door. Alex followed him. He hadn't sat down on the sofa, but was pacing up and down like a caged lion, ruffling his hair.

"Henry, I think you should try to calm down."

"It was out there," Henry murmured. "At the bottom of the garden. It's following me."

"Nothing's following you," Alex assured him.

"It is, it is, it is," he was getting louder and more crazed.

"Look, I'll go out into the garden, okay, and I'll prove there's nothing out there."

"No! You can't!"

"I can because the hound isn't real, so it can't be in your garden. I promise. I'll be one minute and I'll come back."

"Don't open the door," he clutched her arm. "You'll let it in."

"I won't. _One minute_, Henry."

True to her word, Alex went straight back to the other room and opened the glass doors into the garden. For Henry's sake, she walked right down to the plants lining the fence at the bottom and popped her head the bins at the side, turning off his hosepipe that was leaking. Everything, as she had known it would be, was fine.

She went back to the front room to tell Henry this, but he wasn't there.

"Henry?" she called, backing out of the room and trying the kitchen.

He wasn't there either.

That was when she heard the creak of the floorboards above her. Frowning, she went to the bottom of the stairs.

"Henry? Are you okay?"

He didn't answer.

"Is it okay if I come up? I'm getting a little worried."

When he once again failed to respond, she made a split second decision to climb the stairs, concerned that he may have harmed himself, mentally or physically.

"Everything's okay, Henry," Alex said as the reached the top of the stairs. "There's no hound, like I told you. It's just you and me."

The landing was long and narrow, a large mottled mirror standing in the far corner. Alex walked along the corridor, glancing into the rooms, trying to discern which one was above the kitchen where she heard the creak.

As she reached the end of the passage, having looked in every room, she stopped, puzzled. There was nowhere else for him to go.

It was in the mirror that she saw him, gun poised. She hardly had time to duck before he had fired a shot. The glass above her shattered, raining down on Alex's jacket.

"Henry," Alex said tremulously, on her knees and eyes wide. "Put the gun down."

He stared at her, finger tightening marginally around the trigger.

"_Henry."_

He blinked, beginning to come back to himself.

"Oh my God," he murmured, coming out of his daze. "I… Alex… oh my God. I'm so sorry… I…"

"Henry, it's okay," Alex said, slowly getting to her feet and holding out her hand. "Just give me the gun. Please."

He shook his head, tears filling his eyes, "I could have… I nearly…"

"You didn't, you stopped, now give me the gun."

"No, I… I can't. I need it, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Henry muttered tearfully, then turned on his heel and began to run down the stairs.

Alex stood there, shocked for a moment before her brain kicked back into motion and she ran after him. She just got to the front door as Henry shut it. She heard a metallic click.

"No."

She tried the handle. He had locked it. She had no keys.

"Henry!" Alex shouted, braying on the door with her fist. "Let me out! Let me help you."

But he had already gone. Alex felt her heart sink as she grappled in her pocket for her phone and called John.

_"Hey, Alex–"_

"John! It's Henry, he's gone mad. You've got to get to the Hollow. You have to find him."

_"Alex, what's wrong_?"

"I'm at Henry's, we were talking and he thought he saw the hound. He tried to… he… he's got a gun. He's gone. We both know what he's going to do."

_"Has he hurt you? Where are you?"_

"I'm at his house, I'm okay. Just find him!"

_"Stay there, we're on our way to get him."_

Alex nodded and ended the call, biting her lip. He wouldn't be too far ahead even if he was running… Alex double-backed into the house, running out into the garden. She climbed on the top of the bins and hopped over the fence, landing a little painfully on the gravel.

Then she set off to run.

She could make out his footsteps in the wet grass across the moor, but he was nowhere to be seen. She had hoped to intercept him before he got to the Hollow, but she had been wrong.

It was dark under the cover of the trees, dusk settling in. Alex slowed down to a walk, then stopped, a prickling cold working its way up the back of her neck. A twig snapped behind her under someone's weight.

"Hello," she whispered, heart thudding.

His voice made her colder than the wind ever could as he whispered, "Welcome back."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: FlewandFlied, Nothing more nothing less, RainbowSilenced, POTC misty potter temple, Xenon Scorpia, shnuffeluv, emilybrock101, TheCurlyGal6218, and Amy for reviewing!<strong>

**You are all awesome! Replies will be sent to you as soon as I can (wifi permitting).**

**I'm also updating Little Innocent now, check that out!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**x**


	100. Hounds of Baskerville - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: CHAPTER 100! Whoa, well that is slightly crazy! I feel like we should all be eating cake or something. I'm so proud of this story and thank you all so much for being a part of it. **

**(I'm taking requests for oneshots of Alex growing up in the prequel, Little Innocent. Either in a review or pm, just tell me what age she is and what you'd roughly like to see.)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously: _

_It was dark under the cover of the trees, dusk settling in. Alex slowed down to a walk, then stopped, a prickling cold working its way up the back of her neck. A twig snapped behind her under someone's weight._

_"Hello," she whispered, heart thudding._

_His voice made her colder than the wind ever could as he whispered, "Welcome back."_

It was like she had stepped back into the vacuum that had encompassed her the last time she had been at the hollow. Everything, every thought outside the hollow was blurred out, irrelevant, as every sense inside the wood was heightened. Including him.

"I'm busy," she whispered. "Leave me alone."

"I thought we'd established that I can't."

"You aren't really here," Alex continued to walk, albeit slowly. What was she walking towards again? Why was she out here? "There's somewhere I need to be."

"Is it not a some_one _you need to _see?" _he asked.

Alex dared a look over her shoulder, but she couldn't see him. That pristine Westwood was nowhere in sight. But there was no doubt she could hear him. She turned back to the path in front of her. She had to be close to the hollow now. That meant she was close to whatever she was supposed to be doing. A man's name was blaring in the back of her mind. Harry?

"Henry," Alex suddenly remembered. "I need to…"

"Someone's coming."

Alex soured the trees in alarm, "I can't see anyone."

"You can't see me, doesn't mean I'm not here."

"You _aren't _here," Alex stopped. She could hear a voice that sounded very familiar. Deep and comforting. "Sherlock!"

The reply came back louder and clearer, "Alex, where are you!"

She could hear running and realised after a moment that they were her own footfalls pounding the forest floor. Sherlock kept shouting her, and Alex used his voice as a beacon. Finally, he and John were in sight.

"Sherlock!"

He turned at the sound of her voice and steadied her as she leant against him to catch her breath.

"H-Henry," she panted.

"Hollow's this way," John pointed in front of them, he too looking pale and shaken.

Alex didn't have time to catch her breath before they were running again, Sherlock leading the way.

"You do an awful lot of running," Moriarty commented.

Alex ignored him. He was still just a voice without a body; it was easier to drown him out. Instead she listened to the sharp wind past her ears and the crack of twigs underfoot, and concentrated on her uncle in front of her. Every crease in his coat and curl in his hair.

_Just concentrate on him, no one else._

"HENRY!"

The shout snatched her from her little bubble and thrust her back into the real world. She skidded to a stop at the lip of the hollow, blinking as she took in the scene before her. Sherlock was making his way down the bank towards Henry, holding his hand out and speaking in a soft, reassuring voice.

It took Alex's eyes a few moments to adjust and she realised with a start that Henry had the muzzle of the gun in his mouth. Her jaw went slack.

"Get back!" Henry shouted as Sherlock advanced towards him, removing the gun from his mouth and pointing it blindly at them. "Get away from me!"

"Easy Henry. Easy. Just relax," John said, moving to stand next to Sherlock.

Alex too inched further towards them, feeling breath on the back of her neck and not taking her eyes off the gun in Henry's hand.

He looked up at her tearfully, "I know what I am. I know what I… I tried to… I shot you…"

"You didn't," she reassured him, holding out her arms to show him her uninjured body. "I'm fine, it's okay. But you're not fine so you need to put down the gun before someone does get hurt."

"No, no!" his voice rose hysterically. "I know what I am!"

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry," Sherlock said in that same gentle tone. "It's all been explained to you, hasn't it – explained _very _carefully."

"What?" he lowered the gun a fraction.

"Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung onto because you had started to remember," he took another step towards the man, and Alex braced. "Remember now, Henry. You've _got _to remember what happened here when you were a little boy."

Henry stood, shaking, his face contorted in his efforts to recall that night.

"I thought it had got my dad – the hound," he started tremblingly. "I thought…" he clutched his head, losing the composure he had managed to scavenge. "I don't – I don't know anymore!"

He raised the gun back to his head.

John lurched forward as Alex yelled, "Henry, no!"

"For God's sake, stop, Henry," John implored.

"Henry, remember," Sherlock said urgently. "Remember. 'Liberty, In'. Two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago."

Henry's gun was once again beginning to droop.

"You'd started to piece things together, remember what _really _happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry? Not a monster."

"No," Henry whispered.

"A _man."_

Henry's eyes glazed over, breathing heavily as he began to remember. Alex exchanged a look with John and tried to capture Sherlock's attention, but her uncle was completely invested in watching Henry's facial expressions.

The man's face cleared in recognition and he gaped at Sherlock.

"You couldn't cope," Sherlock continued. "You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped. Driven out of your mind so that no one would believe a word that you said."

Henry was frozen to the spot, lost in the past.

"Okay, it's okay, mate," John said, holding out his hand and gently taking the gun from Henry's limp hand.

"Alex!"

She turned at the shout, to see Greg Lestrade jogging towards them. She waved him over and he clambered down the side of the hollow. She tried to give him a smile, but her body was too tight, muscles clenching in a familiar state of fright. She forced herself to focus on what Sherlock was saying and not the hand she could feel on her shoulder.

"There _was _a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it – saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that's how it works."

_It's a drug, _Alex thought, hope sparking within her. _I was thinking of the night of the funhouse, that's why I saw Moran, Moriarty, and William. They aren't here. They never were. I'm not going crazy._

It would have been easier for her to swallow if she didn't hear his scoff from behind her.

She noticed Greg glancing between her and Henry.

"You okay?" he mumbled.

She had a hard time answering him, but managed a nod. It was getting colder somehow, a deeper sense of cold. She could see that John was feeling it too; he had crossed his arms over his chest and wore that troubled expression that had never seemed to be off their faces since they arrived in Devon. If Sherlock could feel it, he didn't show it.

"There never was any monster," Sherlock finished.

Henry, after a moment nodded.

But, not a second after, a piercing howl split the air. John and Greg aimed their flashlights up the top of the sides of the hollow. To a pair of glowing red eyes.

"Oh, God," Alex murmured, stumbling backwards.

She felt his arms keep her upright and she struggled away, moving to place her back up against the opposite side of the hollow's banks.

"No, no, no, no!" Henry wailed hysterically, clutching his head.

"Henry, Henry," he held out his hand.

"Sherlock!" John said tremulously. "Greg are you seeing this?"

Shocked, Greg nodded, staring up at the creature above them.

"Right: he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? _What is it?!"_

John's shout compiled with Henry's screams sounded like lit gunpowder in Alex's head, causing her to slowly sink down the wall of roots and twigs to the floor, covering her ears. There were so many people. She could feel them. Not just Moriarty, faces she had managed to suppress for so long. In the darkness of her closed eyes, she made out flitters of purple Tinkerbell pyjamas, Christmas jumpers outside Harrods, the sickening smell of alcohol from a filthy mouth, the sound of a windscreen shattering. The feeling of coarse rope against her fingers.

She wanted to shout for Sherlock, tell him to make it go away like she always used to, but nothing else existed outside her own little personal nightmare bank. Nothing except the shout, the sound of someone falling onto the ground, sending tremors through her feet, a scream, then everything went silent. Minutes went by. Possibly hours. Alex couldn't tell.

"Just breathe," she heard someone say, the voice so distorted that she was unable to discern if it was Moriarty or not.

She tucked her knees up to her chest and curled into a ball, trying to block everything out. She felt a hand on her back, stroking soothing circles. A voice murmuring nonsense. It was so soft Alex couldn't make out if it was male or female, only that she liked it. She felt herself slowly relax, keeping her eyes closed. It felt so familiar.

Then it hit her.

The hand was suddenly around her wrist, and the air turned thicker. Her clothes clung to her skin and when she tried to take a breath, she choked. She tried to claw at her throat for breath but the hand wouldn't let her. Everything felt so cold, so wet. It burned her eyes. Like she was in the sea.

The hand was pulling her up, and through the darkness of her closed eyes, she saw shimmering light. The surface. It was pulling her towards the surface. She was finally going to see who it was. She had to. She would open her eyes and see who it was that saved her that day when she should have died on the rocks, and she'd shake her head at herself for not seeing it sooner. She knew_, she knew_! _She knew _she'd see them and everything would make sense.

Her head broke the surface, and she gulped a lungful of air. The sun was so bright, blinding her as she clung to the same sharp rocks as she had done on the Whitby cliffs. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust. They were there, in front of her! She could only make out a faint outline at first, the shape of a body, then the touch of their hand, and then, as the light diminished slightly, she made out black curls.

"Alex," Sherlock said. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded, bemused, "Wh-what are you…? I was…"

"Come on," he pulled her up the bank of the hollow, one hand on her wrist, the other on her elbow.

John was shining his torch on her, looking on in concern.

"No," she said, shaking her head as he pulled her onto flat ground. Her clothes were bone dry. "I was in the sea, I was–"

"The fog is drugged," he said. "You were right here the whole time."

"No, no, no, this doesn't make sense. Wh-where's Henry? And Greg? What happened?"

"He took Henry home," John told her. "It's over."

"What…?"

"We'll tell you when we get back to the pub," Sherlock said.

"I don't understand," she said shakily.

"I know, just come with us for now. You'll feel better the further away you get from here."

Alex steeled herself, forcing herself to calm down and trying not to look back to the hollow. She ran a hand through her hair.

"Uh, okay… I, um…" she stumbled, clearing her throat uncomfortably.

Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder, "It's alright. You're fine. We're in Grimpen Village. Everybody's okay, come on."

Reluctantly, Alex let Sherlock lead her away. As she turned, she cast a look back the hollow, fully expecting someone to be stood in the depression, but the only sight was the swirling mist.

* * *

><p>The showers in The Cross Keys definitely needed replacing. It didn't seem to be able to do a middle ground when it came to temperature. It was either freezing cold or boiling hot. The shower was also in the bathtub with an orange shower curtain around it. Not really feeling like a cold shower – partly because she had felt like she had already had one – Alex turned it to hot.<p>

She bowed her head, letting the water flatten her hair and run down her back as she closed her eyes. She stayed like that for a quarter of an hour, just thinking. Remembering. Or _trying _to remember. There was something so familiar about that hand. Of course, it had just been Sherlock's, but even when she had actually been pulled from the water that day, it had felt the same. But it couldn't have been Sherlock then. He hadn't been there when she jumped.

"Alex, are you okay?" her uncle called, knocking on the bathroom door.

Alex opened her eyes to see that the hot water had created a room full of steam. She coughed, brushing water off her face and stepping back so that she was no longer being rained on.

Sherlock knocked again.

"I'm getting out now!" she shouted back, turning off the shower and pulling back the curtain.

She changed into her pyjamas and wrapped a towel around her head. Sherlock had resumed his seat at the little desk by the time she came out, sitting cross-legged on the bed and towel drying her hair.

"John with Greg in the bar still?" she asked.

Sherlock nodded, "He's going to be a nightmare in the morning."

"Makes a change."

"From me being a nightmare?"

"Obviously."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "You were in there for a long time."

"I was just thinking."

"But not about Henry and Bob Frankland?"

"The caravan," she admitted. "When I jumped."

"You said you thought you were in the sea."

Alex leant back onto the headboard, "I could hear so much. People I wasn't even thinking about, that I haven't thought about for ages. Like Laura Mauston, Lee, Duroch, even."

"Who's Duroch?"

Alex winced at her slip, "Just someone who works for Moriarty."

"Did they seem real?" he sounded extremely interested.

"I had my eyes closed but it was like I could feel them around me. I-I knew it was them. I can't really explain it. But yes, they seemed very real."

"Maybe the drug has more effect on younger minds," Sherlock thought aloud. "I suppose it has never been officially tested."

"You saw something other than the hound?" Alex asked.

"Moriarty, like you," he said, with surprising ease.

"Well, he wasn't real, was he? None of it was."

"No, I suppose it wasn't," Sherlock sighed. "I should go, you need to get some sleep."

Alex nodded distantly, "'Night."

He gave her a small smile as he made his way to the door.

"I thought I killed Moran."

Sherlock stopped and turned back to her, a small frown on his face, "Not Moriarty?"

Alex shook her head, "He helped me kill him."

"You don't sound too upset about that," he noted.

"I was when I first did it," she said, beginning to hear the lack of emotion in her voice.

"Now?"

"I wish I had."

"What's changed?"

"Tonight I saw everyone he's hurt. He and Moriarty. If I could go back it was real, I would kill Moran then turn around and do the same to Moriarty for all they've done. And I would enjoy it," she spoke with such conviction that Sherlock raise an eyebrow in surprise.

He walked over to her, and Alex thought he was going to give her a lecture about how she shouldn't speak like that, or tell her firmly how wrong she was. But instead of a tirade, he bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"No you wouldn't."

Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>"So they didn't have it put down, then – the dog," Sherlock said.<p>

"Obviously. Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it."

Alex looked up from her breakfast, "It must have been hard for them."

"I see," Sherlock said.

"No you don't," John retorted with a smile.

"No, I don't. Sentiment?"

"Sentiment!"

"Oh," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

Alex flicked a crumb of toast at him.

"Listen," John said, pausing in eating his own breakfast. "What happened to me in the lab?"

"Hmm, I wonder why that _did _happen, John," Alex said thoughtfully, Sherlock having told her exactly what happened the night before.

Sherlock glared at her, then turned to John, "D'you want some sauce with that?"

"I mean, I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said."

"Exactly, it doesn't make sense," Alex shook her head in mock confusion. "What's your theory, Sherlock?"

Sherlock continued rifling through the sauce sachet pot, "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes – pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve; and they were carrying the gas, so ... Um, ketchup, was it, or brown ...?"

"Hang on: you thought it was in the sugar," John stared at him, Sherlock matching his gaze expressionlessly. "You were _convinced_ it was in the sugar."

"Better get going, actually," Sherlock said, looking at his watch. "There's a train that leaves in half an hour so if you want–"

"Oh God," John said, shaking his head in exasperation. "It was you. You locked me in that bloody lab."

Alex gasped dramatically, "Sherlock!"

"I _had_ to. It was an experiment," Sherlock insisted.

"An _experiment_?!"

Sherlock shushed him, Alex laughing at the expressions on the faces of the group sat on the table next to them.

"I was terrified, Sherlock," John said, quieter but no less angry. "I was scared to death."

"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore. It was all _totally_ scientific, laboratory conditions – literally."

John let out an angry scoff.

"Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one."

John raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean," Sherlock said.

"But it wasn't in the sugar," John said.

"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas."

"So you got it wrong."

"No."

"_Yes,"_ Alex laughed.

"Mmm. You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it _wrong_."

"A bit," Sherlock relented. "It won't happen again."

"Any long term effects?" Alex asked. "I'm not going to grow another brain am I?"

"That would be handy for your exams, wouldn't it? Given the fact you didn't revise at all yesterday."

"What exams?" Alex asked casually.

Sherlock frowned at her.

"She's denying their existence," John supplied. "She thinks if she doesn't believe they're going to happen, they won't."

"Well that won't work."

"Does it look like I'm having a nervous breakdown?" Alex asked.

"No."

"Then it's working."

Sherlock shook his head at her, "To go back to your question: no, there aren't any long-term effects. We'll all be fine once we've excreted it."

"Think I might have taken care of that already," John said, making Alex choke on her Quorn bacon in laughter.

Sherlock snorted but his eyes were focussed on Gary, who was cleaning away plates from another table in the garden. He stood up.

"Where you off to?"

"Won't be a minute. Gotta see a man about a dog."

Alex watched him walk over to Gary and turned her attention back to John when they started talking, not wanting to pry.

"So, that's Devon over with then," she said.

John nodded, "Goodbye Grimpen Village."

After a beat, Alex said, "You mind if we don't come back?"

He laughed, "I most certainly do not."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: RainbowSilenced, TheCurlyGal6218, Slyork1991, POTC misty potter temple, Guest, shnuffeluv, toffeshop for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies have already been sent to you! Thanks so much, guys!**

**So this is the end of HOB (I hope you enjoyed it!) and next shall be an other original case. It is all planned out and delves into the past a little as well. I'm really excited for it.**

**:D**

**Also, check out the 8th chapter of Little Innocent.**

**So, for the hundredth time,**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**A very happy Abby**

**X**


	101. A Father's Love - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Helloo! As you may have noticed, I have spent the summer holidays rewriting this monster of a story. Every chapter has been revised and corrected, nothing big has changed though, just fixing grammar and little tweaks to language, etc. I just want to make it the best I can for all of you amazing people! It is nothing you need to go back and re-read (of course you're more than welcome to if you'd like, haha!).**

**This is the beginning of a new case which will flick back and forth into the past so we have some young Alex and Sherlock :). It shouldn't be longer than six chapters.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"So, that's Devon over with then," she said._

_John nodded, "Goodbye Grimpen Village."_

_After a beat, Alex said, "You mind if we don't come back?"_

_He laughed, "I most certainly do not."_

Unfortunately for Alex, unlike she had hoped, revision didn't get easier once she got back home. If Sherlock wasn't causing havoc with her revision books – crossing out whole sections and saying it was irrelevant, or adding distracting sarcastic comments in the margins – Alex was spilling her tea all over her notes, or accidently burning a whole page on DNA when attempting to cook dinner and work at the same time.

Sherlock found this rather amusing and brought it up every time she was stressing out. But, if he wasn't busy and the mood struck, he would sometimes lend a genuinely helpful hand. It was a shame that half of the physics syllabus was about space and the Universe. Alex wasn't surprised when she turned to that section and saw that Sherlock had drawn all over it in black Sharpie marker.

On several occasions, her uncles had told her that they could reschedule the exams to give her more time, given the stressful circumstances under which she had been living for the past few weeks… months… years. Every time, Alex had shut them down, saying she would work for them like any other normal teenager and do the best she could. She said she wouldn't be able to look at her results and be proud if she knew everything had been tweaked and balanced in her favour in the first place.a

On that morning, Alex had woken up early to work a little more on her maths before breakfast. She put her pen down when Sherlock entered the living room, having actually slept that night. John soon followed and, hearing the three sets of footsteps from above, Mrs Hudson arrived to make them all breakfast.

"What are you doing today?" Sherlock picked up one of the maths books and curled his nose, throwing it in the bin. "Boring."

Alex didn't reply and pulled the book back out of the bin, hiding it under some paper so her uncle didn't look at it and feel the need to throw it out the window.

"How many days now?" John asked as he sat in his chair.

"Three," she said. "Physics on the morning and chemistry on the afternoon."

"The sooner it's over with, the better," John said, thanking Mrs Hudson when she handed him a bacon sandwich.

Alex gave the woman a smile when she handed her hers. Sherlock, of course, was just drinking tea.

"Anything interesting in the newspaper?" Sherlock asked.

"It hasn't arrived yet, we'll just put the news on."

Sherlock grumbled, preferring a newspaper to the television because then he didn't have to listen to the newsreaders. Alex found it extremely exasperating.

"Hey, Bill's on. You like Bill Turnbull," she said, pointing at the presenter.

"He's the least hateable."

"What about Susanna Reed? You like her, didn't you?"

"She has no loyalty."

"What?"

"She moved to ITV."

Alex didn't have anything to say to that and shared an amused look with John. The news played in the background while she and John chatted about the noisy new tenants next to door, eating their breakfast. They weren't really paying attention to the TV until Sherlock suddenly turned the volume up and sat up straighter. Alex and John abandoned their conversation and turned to the screen. Even Mrs Hudson paused in the kitchen.

The breaking news banner rolled along the bottom of the screen and it took Bill a few seconds to speak after breaking out of his shock.

_"We've just had some breaking news. A patient at Havenport High Security Psychiatric Hospital has escaped," _he put his hand to his ear. _"Yes, and we have our local correspondent for Havenport at the scene now. Holly."_

The picture switched to a bright-eyed young woman who had obviously had to do her makeup and hair in the back of a car on the way. She was trying and failing to keep an excited yet nervous tremor from her voice. A newbie.

_"Thank you, Bill. Yes, we've just been informed that a patient named Joshua Bradshaw has gone missing from his cell."_

The teacup in Alex's hand fell to the ground with a shatter. Sherlock didn't flinch, he just kept staring at the screen with wide eyes and his lips pressed tightly together. John looked between the two with his brow knitted together in confusion.

_"You may remember Bradshaw as the man who in 2004 and 2005 kidnapped and murdered four girls under the age of ten. He has since been a resident here in this institution for the criminally insane, until the early hours of this morning when doctors found him missing. It is thought that it was as a result of negligence by security and a full-scale enquiry is underway…That's all the information that has been disclosed for now but a warning to the public: do not approach Bradshaw. If you see him, report it immediately to your local police. We'll have more information as events unfold. Holly Willow, Havenport."_

Without saying a word, Sherlock got to his feet, turned off the TV, and walked out of the door. Alex made to go after him, but he made his feelings quite clear when he shut the door in her face. Alex groaned and ran a hand through her hair.

"What's happening?" John asked. "Why's Sherlock stormed off?"

Alex spoke after a few moments of deliberation, "Do you remember Bradshaw? When it happened?"

"No. Was Sherlock on the case?"

Alex nodded and sat next to him on the sofa, bending down to pick up her broken cup, "I was only little. I was seven, nearly eight. I'd just lost my mum the year before and Sherlock was in rehab for most of the time after that," she paused uncomfortably. "When Bradshaw first came onto the scene, I'd just moved in with Sherlock after he'd gotten clean. Bear in mind, I was in a very… dark…"

"You were grieving," John said in understanding.

Alex shook her head in shame, "It wasn't like that. I was horrible to him. For no reason. I just, I wouldn't speak to him, at all. I refused to eat, didn't sleep when he told me to, I told him everything was his fault. Even Mum," she took a breath, clenching her jaw. "I think that's why Sherlock took the Bradshaw case to heart so much. The children he took were around the same age, same height, weight as me. I mean, he'll probably deny it but he was so invested in that case."

"What happened?"

"I can't remember specific details but I know first twin girls were taken."

* * *

><p>Sherlock listened against the door, resting his forehead against it. He didn't expect Alex to remember everything, not like he did. First were the two girls, Abigail and Terri.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>14th February 2004, Inner City London<strong>

Sherlock Holmes was tired. Not the needing-sleep kind of tired, but the mentally and emotionally drained kind. Alex was being a nightmare. Of course, Mycroft had warned him about how she was now and he had told him he could completely handle it on his own. He was beginning to think he had been very wrong. A mourning, resentful seven year-old was not something he had been prepared for.

She hadn't been to school for months – they seemed in no hurry to have her back – which meant that she was at the flat 24/7. Well, her body was at the flat, but as Sherlock soon discovered, _Alex_was somewhere completely different. No matter how many times he tried to speak to her, she blocked him out, just looking at her cartoons on the television, but he knew she wasn't watching them.

Sherlock had thought it might have been best for both of them if he went on a case and dropped her off at Mycroft's for the day. Apparently not, as she screamed and cried the whole way there and told him she hated him the moment he left her at his brother's. She told him not to come back, which hurt more than he cared to admit, especially with his brother standing there with a 'I-told-you-so' look on his face.

When he arrived at the crime scene, he was met with Detective Sergeant Lestrade – whom Sherlock expected would soon be getting a promotion, as he was filling in for the current detective inspector, who had torn a ligament in his leg.

"It's not a nice one," he warned.

"Are they ever?" Sherlock countered.

"For you, yes. Not this one, I'll expect."

"Murder?"

"Kidnapping. Twin girls. Taken right out of their beds, doors and windows still locked but there are signs of a struggle in their bedroom. They're a little older than Alex, only by a year though."

The mention of Alex's name triggered a whole barrage of thoughts of what she was doing in that moment, probably sat motionless on her bed, looking up at the ceiling and wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and not wake up – which is something she had told him on the rare occasions she did speak.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he bumped his hip on a bowser parked on the curb. Lestrade failed to stifle a snort.

"Up here, fifth floor," he said, the consulting detective following him begrudgingly. "Got a lot on your mind?"

"You could say that."

Lestrade turned solemn, "How's Alex today?"

"No change," he then quickly diverted away from the subject of his niece. "Give me the details."

Lestrade seemed to take the hint, talking as they entered the lift, avoiding a pile of broken glass, "Two girls, both aged eight, Abigail and Terri Hoskins. They live with their single father."

"Single father of twins in a place like this must be hard."

The sergeant nodded, "He's balancing two jobs, a cleaner by day and a security guard by night. When he's gone, his neighbours check in and make sure the girls are okay and sleeping."

"I'm guessing he was working when he girls were taken?"

"Yes, sometime this morning. No one checked in during the night. He goes out to work ten 'til ten, their elderly neighbour takes the girls to school at eight. When she came this morning, windows and doors were locked but–"

"No Abigail and Terri," Sherlock finished. "How interesting. Tell me about the girls. What are they like?"

"Dad said Abigail is the dominant one, outgoing, protective, confident. Fancies herself as a pirate from what he said. Terri is more shy and timid, usually hiding behind her sister."

"So if one of them retaliated, it would have been Abigail. You said there were signs of a struggle?"

They arrived on the fifth floor and walked out onto the corridor. The high-rise block was in the shape of a horseshoe, with the lift behind in the middle of the curve. They turned left.

"Oh yeah, the room's absolutely trashed," he stopped at the door just where the bend began to straighten out, closest to the lift. "There you go. Couldn't get everyone to leave it how you wanted."

"It'll be fine," Sherlock said as Lestrade opened the door with his gloved hands. "Any fingerprints?"

"None: gloves."

"So whoever this is, they're not a complete idiot, then."

One of the first things Sherlock noticed was the key on the doorstep.

"Has anyone moved this?"

"Just to try and get fingerprints. There are only the girls' and their father's. Apparently he puts it there every night so the girls can quickly get it if there's an emergency."

Sherlock nodded, he did a similar thing with Alex. He berated himself for thinking about her again and went back to concentrating on the case.

The flat was tiny, as befitted the area. It had three rooms, two doors on the opposite wall to the front door. Immediately to the left was a sofa. A tatty duvet hung over the back, half of it spilling out of its cover.

"The father doesn't have a bed?" Sherlock guessed.

Lestrade shook his head, "He said it's been like this since his wife left him with the twins when they were born."

To the right was a messy kitchenette, with only a sink, mini-fridge, and barely counter space for a microwave. It bore the unmistakeable, inexplicable stains that could only belong to a kitchen in the home of a child. Everything seemed dirty.

It took only a few steps to cross the room. Sherlock took the plastic blue gloves Lestrade handed to him and pulled them on before reaching for the doorknob to Terri and Abigail's room. He pulled open the door.

Inside was also a mess, but of a different kind. The room was small, just managing to fit in two single beds with a little bedside table with a lamp on between the two. The headboards were against the wall opposite the door. Only a few steps from the bottom of the bed was a wooden wardrobe against the same wall as the door. The bottom of Sherlock's shoes brushed against the fibres of a red rug as he walked in. Scattered on the floor, were various plastic toys and a broken wooden shelve in half. He avoided standing on them.

"The bed on the right is Abigail's," Sherlock stated.

That much was abundantly obvious due to the fact that it was mostly black with a large pirate ship transfer across it. She had no teddies, only a plastic parrot with an eyepatch. Similarly, the bed on the left was clearly Terri's. It was a soft purple with several duvets and blankets, and a mountain of cuddly animals from bears to dogs to miscellaneous lizards.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Lestrade, motioning to the mountain of blankets.

"Her dad said she felt the cold. Broke down thinking about her outside this time of year without a coat."

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed. "So what were you two girls doing last night… because it wasn't sleeping…?"

"How do you know that?"

"That smell…" he wrinkled his nose in concentration, inhaling deeply. "Sweet…"

Without warning, he dived to the floor, pressing his face to the carpet and looking under Terri's bed. Seeing nothing, he turned to look under Abigail's and grinned. His hand shot out into the darkness and retrieved a bag of popcorn and a large bar of chocolate. He stood back up and showed them to Lestrade.

"Ask the father if he bought them these. Or if they had money to buy it themselves."

Lestrade nodded and ducked out of the room, taking out his phone. The father must have been at Scotland Yard.

Sherlock looked back at the beds, duvets pulled back and little dents where little heads used to be. He could imagine them waiting for their father to go out, grinning at each other in the dark when they heard the slam of the door and whir of the lift. Terri would have flicked on the lamp while Abigail took out their snacks. They would have giggled and smiled and gossiped while gorging on chocolate. Everything Alex no longer did.

Lestrade returned to the room, "Hoskins didn't give them that chocolate and he said he keeps their pocket money until the weekends. He has no idea where that food has come from."

"You can hardly call it food," Sherlock mumbled. "You have children, if they stayed up all night with each other with this much food, what would they do? This bar is half finished, what would make them stop…?"

Before Lestrade could speak, Sherlock answered his own question.

"They got thirsty!" he looked down at the packets. "The amount of salt in these is astronomical."

He looked around the room, checking down the side of the bedside table and on the floor. There were no signs of drinks anywhere. Sherlock turned on his heel and pushed Lestrade as he made his way to the kitchenette. He knelt beside the mini fridge and opened it. Only some sour milk was in the drinks tray.

"Okay, so they got thirsty. It's the middle of the night. The hour of monsters in the eyes of a child," _stop thinking about Alex! _"Terri stays in bed while her sister goes out to get them something to drink. She goes to the fridge but sees she can't drink the milk," Sherlock opened the first cupboard, saw tins, then opened the other and saw the glasses and mugs. He took two. "She takes two glasses and turns on the tap–" Sherlock stopped, frowning.

"What's wrong?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock twisted the kitchen tap on and off, but not a drop of water fell into the grimy sink, "The water's off. Pipe must have fractured, this part of London has cast-iron water pipes. Much more prone to fracturing than plastic."

"Ohh," Lestrade suddenly said. "I remember someone saying something about that. Apparently the water board have been working on it for months."

With a start, Sherlock remembered the water bowser he had walked into on the way in.

"That's it," Sherlock breathed.

"What?"

"The water! Abigail would have watched her father go out to the bowser for months, she knew what to do. She double-backed, told her sister where she was going, took the glasses, unlocked the door, put the key back on the mat, and went out to the bowser to fill up the glasses with the water provided by the water board. She would have thought it was an adventure."

"That would have provided the kidnapper with his opportunity," Lestrade added in realisation. "The door would have been unlocked."

"They must have been waiting for Abigail to leave, meaning they were the ones to give the girls the salty food. With Daddy's wage, I'm willing to bet they didn't get many treats like that," Sherlock said, his mind racing, going to the front door. "He stands around the corner of the lift, watches Abigail leave to get the water, then goes to the open flat."

At that moment, walking back from the door to the middle of the flat, he stepped on a squeaky floorboard.

"Floorboard. Terri would have heard that. Those girls will know every sound possible to make in this place. They'll know how loud the creak is for their weight. She knew it wasn't Abigail."

"So what did she do? Surely she wouldn't have just let them in."

"No, think what their father said. Terri is completely reliant on Abigail. If she had an inkling something was wrong and she was without her sister, the flight impulse would definitely overcome the fight impulse," Sherlock said, walking back to the girls' room over the creaky floorboard.

"But where would she run? If the kidnapper was in the living room, she couldn't have gotten out the front door. There's no other way out of the flat."

"Flight doesn't mean running hell-for-leather out into the street. Sometimes it can just be running to somewhere she felt safe. Somewhere close… somewhere to hide," he thought of what Alex would do in that situation, where she would go if not run to him. It came to him suddenly. "Wardrobe."

He turned to the big wooden wardrobe opposite the beds.

"There were only the girls' fingerprints on the knobs," Lestrade said as Sherlock opened it up.

On the floor of the wardrobe were several crushed McDonald's Happy Meal toys, and several shirts had been pulled from their hangers.

"She hid in here," Sherlock said, closing the door until it was open just a fraction. "Leaving enough room for her to see. She did something that gave herself away – gasped maybe. Her kidnapper turns to the wardrobe, she sees and wriggles as far back as she can, crushing the toys and pulling the clothes. He reaches for her, picking her up with one hand over her mouth to stop her screaming and the other presumably around her waist. She struggles and somehow… somehow he gets her to co-operate… there's no other damage in the other room so somehow she's complacent…"

He pulled back the rest of the clothes and took out his magnifier, which showed a small bloodstain. He smiled.

"He knocked her unconscious," Lestrade said, looking at the stain.

"She probably managed to get free and tried to get back in the wardrobe when he hit her head off it."

"Okay, so now he has Terri unconscious. What about Abigail?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in thought, walking back out of the room, across the flat, and out into the hallway, "The time it would have taken for Terri to be knocked out would have been the time taken for Abigail to get the drinks from the water bowser. So she's on her way back when all this is happening. She would come up in the lift and–" he stopped, eyes widening. "Oh!"

"Sherlock?"

The consulting detective didn't answer as he ran to the lift, impatiently pressing the button mounted on the wall. The doors eventually opened to reveal two men. Without so much as an apology, Sherlock pulled them out of the lift and out into the corridor.

"Alright, alright!" one of them exclaimed. "Chill out!"

"Twat," the other muttered and went on their way.

"Nice way to introduce yourself to the neighbours," Lestrade mumbled.

Sherlock couldn't care less, holding the doors to the lift open with his hand and pointing to the pile of broken glass they had tried not to step on when they first arrived.

"Abigail was carrying two glasses of water. The doors opened, she can _just _see her front door from here. She sees it open. Knowing it can't be Terri–"

"She drops the glasses in fright," Lestrade finished.

"No," Sherlock said, motioning for the other man to hold open the door as he knelt beside the glass and inspected it. "There's a large shard missing. She took it as a weapon. A pirate's first battle."

He walked back to the flat, Lestrade following and the lift doors closing behind them.

"She walks back into the flat but by now she's getting scared," Sherlock said. "She's too frightened to go in the room, too frightened to go out the flat. It's only when the kidnapper walks out, holding her unconscious sister that he realises she's there."

"And that's when she makes her move."

Sherlock nodded, "No doubt seeing her sister gave her an adrenaline boost. They would be in the doorway of her room. She charges at him, knocking him back into the shelf. It breaks, toys falling everywhere and he drops Terri."

"Abigail tries to pick up her sister," Lestrade said.

"Yes, probably trying to drag her out of the room. But by this time, our kidnapper has recovered and now needs to deal with Abigail the same way he did with Terri."

"He knocked her out."

Sherlock nodded distractedly, deep in thought, "Is anything missing? The father's been in here, surely you asked him if anything was different."

"He wasn't really in the right frame of mind to go through all their possessions."

"But he must have said _something."_

Lestrade went to reply, then stopped, recoiling, "Actually, he mentioned to one of the officers about their moneybox not being there. Said they might have ran away. Wishful thinking."

"Was it on the shelf?"

"Yes, I think so. A Smurf one. Full of coppers."

"Big? Hard?"

"Porcelain," Lestrade nodded.

Sherlock smirked in satisfaction, "That's what he used. He hit Abigail and then carried them out to his car, locking the door behind him and posting the key back through. The twins would have just looked like they were asleep. For some reason he's taken the moneybox with the girls."

"But where's the blood?"

"He didn't want to hit her enough to kill her. If he wanted to kill them, he would have just left them in the flat. He knew he had hours before someone would have found them. He must have been watching them for weeks to get to know their routine. He wanted them as unhurt as he could get them. That's probably why he didn't use weapons he brought himself, or drugs… He thought he could get them to come with him willingly…"

"Okay but where's the glass Abigail supposedly used?"

Sherlock looked down at the doorway, his eyes resting on the red fluffy rug. He lifted up the corner of the rug, and there laid a bloodied shard of glass. Not a lot of blood; it must have just made a small cut.

"Kidnapper must have kicked it under. Any witnesses? CCTV?"

"In a place like this?" Lestrade asked with a raised eyebrow. "Kids make it a hobby to take out cameras. Then something like this happens and we get the blame for not doing our job properly."

Sherlock pursed his lips.

"Right, I'll get that blood sent off, see what we can find out. I'll have some people go round the neighbours again, see if we can rejog their memories. I'll give you a call–"

Sherlock gave a disgusted grunt.

" – a _text," _Lestrade rectified with a sigh. "If we find anything."

Sherlock nodded, looking back around Abigail and Terri's room, "I could stay and–"

"No," Lestrade said firmly. "You need to be with Alex. Stop putting it off."

"It would help if she didn't act like I personally murdered her mother," Sherlock muttered.

Lestrade gave him a look, "Kids mourn in different ways."

"I know," Sherlock snapped, pausing for a moment before saying. "Text me."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Sherlock remembered coming home that day. Mycroft was there and had told him Alex had demanded to go back to his flat, that she didn't want to stay with him. His brother had sat calmly in the armchair as Sherlock asked where Alex was – she hadn't spent a second in her bedroom, opting to sleep away the days on the sofa in the living room. Mycroft told him she was in bed, pretending to sleep. Sherlock had wanted to make a quip about _her _not wanting to spend time with either but stopped himself. That could have been said for both of them.

He had never let cases bother him before, but that night as Alex came silently back downstairs – after Mycroft had left – and properly fell asleep on the sofa, he had made sure to lock the front door.

* * *

><p><strong>There you go! You have no idea the amount of research that has gone into this case. It seems like I have been planning it for weeks.<strong>

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**X**


	102. A Father's Love - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Okay, so I'm going into my last year of secondary school and I will therefore be bombarded by exams. I am trying my best to get ahead with chapters and I do (though I shouldn't) favour writing above school work but this year it may have to take somewhat of a backseat. Know that I'll always try my best to get this updated on Sundays and Little Innocent updated on Wednesdays. But don't be alarmed if there is an absence in my updates, I'll always come back!**

**Anyway, pretty nervous about uploading this chapter for some reason. Be nice! :)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_He had never let cases bother him before, but that night as Alex came silently back downstairs – after Mycroft had left – and properly fell asleep on the sofa, he made sure to lock the front door._

"Poor kids," John said. "I don't understand how people can hurt children."

"I can arrange for you to have coffee with my father, I'm sure he can enlighten you."

John glared at her, "Don't joke about that."

"Why? Isn't the best way to combat fear through humour?"

"The fact that you just admitted you're still scared of him doesn't fill me with a great sense of reassurance."

"You've spent way too much time around Sherlock and Mycroft," Alex said, taking their fresh cups of tea to wash up. "It's not healthy."

"But you–"

"Change the subject," Alex said glibly, running the hot water in the sink and washing the mugs.

It was few moments before John spoke again, in a mildly annoyed tone, "Fine. So were there any witnesses?"

"Hmm?"

"Abigail and Terri?"

"Oh," Alex wiped her hands on her shirt and sat down at the desk, opening her laptop. "I can't remember all that much. I was seven after all. Let me Google it."

A few moments later, she had a newspaper clipping up on the screen.

"Okay," she said. "It says here that there was a witness who saw a tall man with brown hair carrying two girls at the front of the flat they were taken from. Says she thought they were his kids and looked like they were sleeping."

"No CCTV?"

"In a place like that?"

"Point taken," John sighed. "We should go after Sherlock. Reckon he'll be at Scotland Yard?"

"Either there or rounding up his homeless network. I'd say the Yard is our best bet."

* * *

><p>Sure enough, when they arrived, they saw Sherlock sat at Lestrade's desk, the detective inspector nowhere in sight. Alex grimaced at her uncle from the doorway. He was sat in the office chair, staring out of the window, one hand tangled in his curls and the other tapping out an irregular rhythm on the window sill. This wasn't a case he was going to enjoy, she knew it.<p>

"I'll go and find Lestrade, give you two time to talk," John said, leaving down the corridor.

Alex nodded absently. She waited a few more minutes before knocking lightly on the door. Proving just how out of it he was, Sherlock jumped.

"Alex," he said, turning to look at her. "You should be at home."

She walked over and sat in the chair opposite him, "Wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Of course I'm okay."

"Good."

"Good."

"I just – I know how this case was for you all those years ago. I know I wasn't there for you back then but I can be this time. So if you need any help or… anything," Alex trailed off, unable to read the look on Sherlock's face.

"How much do you actually remember about the case?" Sherlock asked, giving her his full attention now.

"Um, not too much."

He pointed to a picture of two young girls on the desktop. They were identical, obviously twins.

"Abigail and Terri?"

Sherlock nodded.

They were extremely cute children. Their skin was fair and pale, but not the overly pale that Alex's was. Their hair was thin and light brown, falling in a bob just above their shoulders. Next to that picture, there was another girl, younger, with extremely short brown hair and boyish face. There were deep dimples on either side of her mouth as she gave a toothy grin. She too had blue eyes.

"Who's this?" Alex asked.

"Penelope Smith," Sherlock answered. "She was Bradshaw's next victim."

"Tell me about her."

"It was November 2004. You still hadn't gone back to school and Mycroft wasn't around to look after you so you had to come with me to the crime scene. You weren't happy about that."

"Sorry," Alex apologised bashfully. "Honestly, that year–"

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock brushed off. "You stayed in Lestrade's car. Penelope had been in foster care since she was a baby and had been with the Ashton's for three years. Reports said she was happy and content."

"Was she?"

"I went to her room. Reminded me a little of yours. Toys everywhere, walls painted, desk, television. She had friends, too. Settled into her new school well, top grades. Looked like a perfect life."

"So what happened then?"

"She had an argument with her foster parents, the first one they'd had. They had two younger sons and Penelope had been accidently blamed for something they'd done or something similar. She 'ran away'."

"Was it like my version of running away?" Alex asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. "When I'd get on a horde of buses thinking I was being clever then would get scared and call you and Mycroft, then you'd walk around the corner having been following me the whole time."

"It seemed that way. Only she didn't have someone like me or Mycroft watching her. She was sent to her room and climbed out the window in the middle of the night. She went to the local park and hid from the rain underneath a climbing frame, much like you used to. Apparently it was a favourite spot of hers and when the Ashton's realised she was gone, that was the first place they looked."

"But she was gone."

"Yes. The park was in front of a small wood. Bradshaw took Penelope through the trees and disappeared. I knew it was him as soon as I saw the crime scene."

"Surely she would have screamed or something? Weren't there houses nearby?"

"Not only that, the sodden cardigan she had been wearing was found draped over the swing. I found traces of new synthetic fur around the fence next to the wood. It had to belong to Penelope, not any children during the day or the rain would have already washed it away."

"Fur?"

"From the same type of coat you have. With the fur on the hood."

"Oh, a Parker coat? Why would Bradshaw give her one of those?"

"The same reason there wasn't more blood in Terri and Abigail's room. The same reason he carried them out of the flat looking like they were sleeping. He staunched the flow of blood when he hit them not out of purely wanting to keep them alive, but out of care. He didn't want to hurt them. The same with Penelope. He didn't want her cold and wet so he bought her a coat. She went with him willingly."

"If he cared so much why did he do what he did?"

"I'll get to that. Chronology is key in this, Alex."

"So what did you do next then?"

"I went back to Penelope's bedroom. She was described as a tomboy by everyone the police interviewed and her bedroom definitely reflected that. Blue everything, not one dress or skirt in her wardrobe. The only thing remotely girly was a long shelf full of nail varnish, every colour under the sun. Apparently it was her favourite thing to do before she went to bed. There was one unopened in the middle of the shelf, the only one to have glitter in as well as colour. Mrs Ashton said she had a special one for her birthday the next day," he said.

"You used that, didn't you," Alex said. "If he cared about her, she would ask for the nail varnish and he would buy it for her."

He gave her a proud look, "Good. I told Lestrade to monitor shops that sold nail varnish in the radius Bradshaw could have travelled with her. Naturally, he delivered."

"You got him on CCTV?"

"The back of a head, but not just him. Abigail, Terri, and Penelope. They were in the backseat of his car outside the shop."

Alex's jaw dropped, "They were just sitting in the car? Didn't they try to escape?"

Sherlock shook his head, "That was the strange thing. They were talking between each other, laughing. They looked excited. Then Bradshaw walked back to the car, gave Penelope her nail varnish and she smiled and hugged him. Of course the police had a large area to monitor and by the time they closed in around the boutique shop, they were gone. Bradshaw must have realised something was wrong because the next day his car was found abandoned in a service station. There were the girls' clothes, food wrappers, bottles of water, and two letters. The first one was addressed to Mr Hoskins from the twins."

He pushed another photograph towards her, this one of a crumpled letter.

_Hi Dad its Abigail and Terri. Well Abigail because Terri cant write while we are in the car. She feels sick. We are actually in a car! Not a cab! Its really nice because we can go to sleep and stuff and not get shouted at by a cabby. We are both OK and happy and we just had some nice food. Now we are eating Skittles. The man we are with is really nice and he is looking after us until you can get some more money and dont need to worry about us. You can have my bed now. Don't take Terris because it squeaks too much. But either way you dont have to sleep on the couch now. Miss you!_

_Love you and see you soon_

_Abigail and Terri_

_xxxxxxxxxxxx_

"Oh God," Alex put the picture of the letter down, swallowing. "That's horrible. Knowing what happened to them. They actually thought they were going back home. But why would they stay with Bradshaw after he hurt them?"

"He talked to them, I expect. Convinced them he didn't mean to. That they were just going away on a holiday for a short time while their father got their finances back together so he could afford to buy a newer house and in the meantime, he would take very good care of them and have an adventure in the process. From what Bradshaw's psychiatrists said, he was a very persuasive man. Don't tell me you weren't easily coerced into things you didn't want to do at that age."

Alex nodded, "I suppose. What about Penelope's letter?"

"Five words: thanks for looking after me."

Alex put her head on her arm resting on the desk, "No, I hate that. Stop. Oh God."

"Penelope had spent her life happily going from foster home to foster home. That was what she knew. Presumably she just thought she was moving on to another family. This one had a caring man who gave her a coat when she was wet, a blanket when she was cold, and two big sisters when she was lonely."

"Sherlock," Alex moaned. "Don't say that."

"Why? It's what happened. It's fact."

"It's awful."

Sherlock paused, "She was the hardest one."

"Why?" Alex asked, looking up now.

He matched her gaze, "She reminded me of you. She looked like you that age. She acted like you, like how you used to be. It was hard not to see you sat in the rain underneath that climbing frame. You'd done it before."

Alex sighed, "I remember Lestrade dropping us off at the old flat that night. I think I can anyway. It was cold for August."

"It was."

"I went back to the sofa and I remember you looking sad," Alex looked down. "I wanted to… try and cheer you up. You'd been trying to get me to do something other than lie on the sofa and I knew if I ate something or made a cup of tea it'd make you smile."

"Why didn't you?"

"I did. I made toast and a coffee for you. But when I went back to the living room you'd gone to your room and you'd told me not to go in your room. I didn't understand, I thought you were angry with me. So I put the toast in the bin and the coffee down the sink and went back to the sofa," Alex blinked back the stinging sensation in her eyes. "I'm fine, sorry. Fine."

She made sure her eyes were completely dry before looking up at her uncle.

"You should have just walked in," Sherlock said. "Seeing you up would definitely have made me happier."

Alex shrugged, sure that she was going to start to cry if they stayed on the topic, "I'm up now. Not going to be down any time soon. So there was one more, right? One more girl?"

Sherlock nodded, taking the hint, "Suzie Hodges, aged twelve."

He pushed another photograph towards her. She fitted his past victims, white, light brown hair falling to her waist, and blue eyes. Her eyes were somewhat dull and tired.

"She looks exhausted," Alex said.

"She had a good right. She lived with her seven siblings."

"Seven?!"

"In a five-bed semi-detached house. She was the third oldest at twelve and shared a room with her younger sister. Her mother was expecting again when she went missing. The girl's friends told the school nurse Suzie had been feeling a little left out at home. She was an attention-seeker at school to make up for it; clingy apparently. The friends said they felt suffocated by her and were beginning to distance themselves from her."

"It wasn't her fault!" Alex said indignantly. "Some friends."

"You wouldn't do the same?"

"No…" Alex paused. "Well, maybe but… Carry on."

"Her older siblings went to private school. Suzie didn't pass the tests she needed to get in so just went to the public school. The morning she disappeared, her father had driven the older ones to school but had forgotten Suzie. Her mother being heavily pregnant and looking after three young children told her to walk to school. The mother then got a call from the headteacher asking if Suzie was ill."

"She hadn't turned up. Bad way to find out."

Sherlock muttered his agreement, "There was no indication she had been taken from the local park like Penelope. We were at a little bit of a loss before her picture and story got released to the press and a witness came forward, living on the route Suzie would have taken to walk to school. An old woman had seen Suzie sit on the curb outside her house. She was crying and then a car pulled up beside her."

"Bradshaw?"

"Yes. He sat next to her and hugged her. Being so starved of attention, she would have revelled in someone taking any notice of her. The woman said she thought Bradshaw was her father and they got in the car together, and drove away. The witness's son had installed security cameras so we caught the whole thing and managed to identify Bradshaw for the first time."

"Was there sign of the other girls?"

"No, that told us they had to be in a building somewhere."

"How did you identify him? Did he have priors?"

Sherlock nodded, "Suspected paedophilia in 2002. Charges were dropped."

"I suppose that fits. I can understand why the other girls would be silly enough to go with him but Suzie was twelve. She should have known better."

"She was only with him a few days, I expect she realised her mistake but by the time she acted on it, it was too late. A moment of selfishness, wanting someone to pay attention to her that would cost her her life."

"What did you do to catch him then?"

"Well I knew he cared about them like his own. He left little accidental clues, sentimental touches. Like the dates of the kidnappings. What do you notice about them? Abigail and Terri 2004, Penelope Smith November 2004, and Suzie Hodges August 2005."

Alex frowned, her mouth pulling to the side in thought, "Um… oh, they're nine months apart!"

"Exactly. And what would that correspond to?"

"The length of a pregnancy," Alex said, eyes widening. "He was waiting the same time he would for a baby."

"And at the end of each nine months, he got one. Further research into Bradshaw showed he lost his wife the year before he abducted Abigail and Terri. They had no children and somehow he got the illusion that he could assimilate someone else's child to be his own."

"How did you catch him then?"

"Having a younger sister may have been a bind to me as a teenager, but I did get valuable insight into the world of someone Suzie's age and gender. Your mother had a phobia of needles and I remember somewhat humiliatingly having to hold her hand while she had her vaccination against cervical cancer at twelve.

"Bradshaw had no siblings but he would have researched everything even before taking the twins. He wanted them healthy and happy, vaccinations are a must for that. He didn't want them to suffer what his wife did, as she died of cervical cancer. So, I had Lestrade phone the school and they informed him that Suzie was supposed to have her vaccination the following week, after she had missed it a fortnight previously. Bradshaw wouldn't have known about that fact and thought she would have already had it. Upon finding out she hadn't, he booked her into a clinic on the outskirts of the city under a false name. I had foreseen this and told Lestrade to forewarn all surgeries and clinics. They informed us when Bradshaw arrived with Suzie. A stupid move on his part as they would need Suzie's records and her face was all over the news. What parents do for love. He was blinded."

"And that's when you got him?"

"No, the police messed their job up again and gave him a window of opportunity to escape, which he readily took," Sherlock licked his lips and Alex frowned at this uncharacteristic display of nervousness. "He, um, he knew that he was out of time. They knew his face, his car registration, the area he was in, everything…"

"He was desperate," Alex said quietly.

"He wanted to be with his daughters. His girls with his hair and his wife's eyes. He knew when the police caught up to him, they'd lock him up and give the girls back to their families. So he…" Sherlock cleared his throat. "I thought he would hand himself in, spare the girls undue suffering, but I got it wrong. We made the wrong approach, cornering him. There was only one way it could go.

"We traced him to an old warehouse. That's where they'd been living. The whole area was filled with toys and blankets and everything a child would want, even old swingsets. And in the middle, he had arranged four beds in a semi-circle, one for each of his children. His chair was in the middle, looking at all of them.

"When we got there, the girls were in bed and he was in his chair. But none of them were breathing. I had underestimated his love for them and his desire to keep them with him. He'd given them sleeping pills and smothered them while they slept. One at a time, holding a pillow over their faces. Killed by a hug. Abigail in her pirate pyjamas, Terri with her mountain of blankets, Penelope with her sparkly blue nail varnish, and Suzie hugging a teddy."

Alex sniffed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, "Oh, man. That-that's horrible, that's… I can see why you were upset."

"Why are you?" Sherlock asked, brow arching. "You know how it ended. You've read the report."

"I know but… it's like that old film I used to love, remember Von Ryan's Express?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Deleted it probably."

"Well basically, at the end, he's chasing the train and if he gets on, he survives, if he doesn't, he dies. And I've seen it so many times and I _know _he doesn't make it but it doesn't stop me from begging him to run just a little bit faster every time I watch it. Of course, he never does. Do you know what I mean?"

"Not really."

Alex shook her head, averting her gaze from the pictures of the girls on the desktop, "So Bradshaw."

"He'd overdosed on paracetamol. Hadn't taken enough though, woke up half-mad in hospital. He was tried and convicted of the multiple kidnappings and murders of minors. He's been at Havenport until now."

"Until now," Alex repeated, nodding slowly.

John took this moment to reappear, knocking on the door with Lestrade in tow. Alex smiled as they entered.

"You need me to do anything?" Alex asked Sherlock.

He shook his head, "Go back home and carry on revising. I don't think you factored this into your rota."

"No, funnily enough I didn't allow time for murders to escape between studying physics and history," Alex joked, standing up and walking behind the desk to Sherlock. "You sure?"

He nodded, taking a note out of his pocket, "Money for a cab."

She smiled as she took it and kissed his cheek, "See you later. Bye, John. Bye, Lestrade."

* * *

><p>As soon as she arrived back at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson came out of her flat, worrying a tea towel with her hands and asking if it was true about the murderer escaping. The two proceeded to 221B for tea and to chat about the situation, Alex's revision forgotten. The pair gabbed on for the best part of an hour before the doorbell rang.<p>

Mrs Hudson went to get up but she put a hand to her hip, sighing in pain.

"I'll get it," Alex quickly assured her. "Just sit down. You want one of your herbal not-drug thingies?"

"No, no, I'll be okay."

Alex nodded and went down the front door to answer it. A man stood there with a cap on and a shaking hand. Alex tried not to acknowledge the smell of sweat that was rolling off him.

"Can I help you?" Alex asked.

He held out a letter to her. She took it.

"Um, thanks. We _do _have a letterbox though," she pointed out.

He grunted something indistinguishable, "Sherlock Holmes does live in this building?"

"Yeah, I live with him."

His head jerked up, but cap still pulled over his face. Alex felt a jolt run through her.

"You mind taking off your cap?" she asked.

"You related to him? To Mr Holmes?"

"Yeah, I'm–"

"You're his daughter," he cut her off, taking a step back. "He has a daughter…"

"Actually," Alex said, then stopped herself. "Who are you? Where's Craig, our usual postman?"

"I've got to go," he rushed out, almost tripping over himself in his haste to get away.

Alex gritted her teeth and stepped out barefoot onto the pavement, "Hey! Wait!"

A knock on the window made her look up to see Mrs Hudson frowning at her. She feigned a smile for the old lady and when she looked back down the path, he was gone. Alex pursed her lips and walked back in the flat, closing the door behind her and going up to 221B. She turned the letter over in her hands, brow knitting together.

"Who was that?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Is my phone over there?"

"Yes," she passed it to her. "What's in your hand?"

"Two minutes," Alex said, dialling Mycroft's number.

He, of course, answered.

_"Hello, Alex. How are you today?"_

"Fine, yeah. Just ringing to ask a favour."

_"Aren't you always?"_

"Someone's just come to the flat and dropped off a letter for Sherlock."

_"And?"_

"Can you find out who he is?"

_"Based on what?"_

"I just didn't like him. A bad feeling."

_"Is this something to do with the recent escape of Joshua Bradshaw? I think you may be a little paranoid, dear niece."_

"I think that's extremely rich coming from you, Mycroft Holmes. Please, just, he creeped me out."

_"You think it's Bradshaw?"_

"No, of course not. Well, maybe. I don't know, that's why I'm ringing you instead of Sherlock because he's with Lestrade and I don't want to cause a huge fuss over nothing and divert the police's attention from where Bradshaw might actually be. Please, Uncle Mycroft," she said, making her voice as sweet and young-sounding as she could.

He laughed a little at that, _"For you, I shall acquiesce. You realise that I would do this for no one else, don't you?"_

"Thank you."

He was silent for a moment, no doubt getting someone to bring up CCTV from moments ago. The silence stretched on for five minutes and Alex was beginning to get antsy, when Mycroft finally spoke again.

_"Are you in 221B?"_

"You know I am, what did you–"

_"Are you alone?"_

"No, Mrs Hudson's with me," Alex glanced at the landlady.

_"Stay there, Sherlock and John are on their way over to retrieve the letter."_

"Was it Bradshaw?" Alex asked, a tremor in her voice.

_"Put it this way, your instincts are extremely good."_

"It was! Oh God. Oh God, Mycroft. D-do I run after him? He can't be far away."

_"No! Don't be stupid, Alex. Stay exactly where you are."_

"But–"

_"If you walk out of that door now, I will personally make sure you never walk out of it again. Do you understand me?"_

"Well I'm not an idiot," Alex said, feeling a little patronised.

_"Sometimes I wonder. Stay. In. The. Flat."_

"Oh. Kay," Alex replied, then shook her head at her own petulance. Sometimes Mycroft brought out the worst in her. "I'm sorry. Sherlock just told me about what happened to those girls. They'd be my age now. It's horrible to talk about them in the past tense."

_"And I'd prefer not to talk about you in the past tense," _his tone was softer now. _"I have to go. Be careful, Alex. Stay safe."_

"I will, I promise. Bye."

She put the phone in her pocket and bit her lip, going to stand by the window.

Just as Mycroft had said, Sherlock and John soon arrived back, Sherlock taking the letter from her wordlessly.

"Are you both okay?" John asked, putting a hand on Mrs Hudson's arm.

"Yes, we're fine," she answered, patting his hand. "I'll leave you three to it."

Sherlock paced to the other end of the room, holding the letter up to the light. It was then that Alex noticed he had something under his arm. A wallet folder.

"What's in there?" Alex asked, pointing to it.

He ignored her. She turned her questioning gaze on John.

He shrugged, "Lestrade gave it to him after I'd walked out."

Alex frowned, concern growing, "Sherlock, what's in the folder."

At least he answered this time, "None of your concern. Excuse me."

As he went to walk to his bedroom, Alex quickened her steps and pulled him back. He glared at her, shrugging his arm out of her grasp.

"I'm worried," Alex said. "What's in the folder… why does it say your name on it? That's not Lestrade's writing. Not anyone's I recognise."

"It's nothing," he pulled it closer to his body, out of her sight.

"That's why you're being so strange about it?"

"Alex, stop," but as he turned to walk away, he was holding it so tight that the folder slipped from his hands and opened as it hit the living room floor, spilling its contents.

Acting on instinct, Alex stooped down to help him clean up the mess. However, as she picked up one of the sheets of crinkled A5 pieces of paper, Sherlock snatched it out of her hand. It wasn't too late for her to see what was on it, though.

"Oh…" she put a hand to her mouth. "Sh-Sherlock…"

"What? What is it?" John hurried over and picked up one of the sheets that Sherlock hadn't managed to frantically stuff back in the folder.

Alex watched his face grow pale. She took another sheet, blanching.

On both pieces were different drawings. Beautiful sketches showing extreme skill and finesse. It looked as if it was a black and white picture, it was shaded so perfectly. Charcoal. But Alex wasn't marvelling at the skill of the artist. She was focussing on the subject.

It was Sherlock, blood dripping down his naked chest and a gaping wound over where his heart would usually be. Except it wasn't. It was in his hands. He was kneeling, holding the organ up to what seemed like the artist. They had captured the very essence of pain on his face and Alex found that she couldn't look at it anymore.

The second one she picked up was different, this time Sherlock was curled in ball in the corner of a dark room, a knife in the foreground of the picture, as if the artist was wielding it.

She looked over to her uncle, the real-life one, who was hanging his head in resignation. Tears gathered in her eyes as she held out the picture, hand shaking.

"What the hell is this?"

"I didn't mean for you to see that," he took the picture and put it back in the folder with the others.

"Who drew those Sherlock?" Alex asked tremulously.

"Bradshaw. In therapy at Havenport."

"Just drawings of you, like that?" John asked, he too trembling a little. "Dying."

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"I don't know, maybe because it didn't stop him in time. Now he blames me."

"That's why he came to the flat," Alex said. "Isn't it? That letter. It's another picture."

"Probably," he paused, just holding the sealed envelope.

"Are you going to open it then?"

He still hesitated.

"We've seen these, we know now. You can't keep this from us," John said.

After a moment, he let out a frustrated breath through his nose and ran a finger under the seal of the envelope. He lifted up the top and pulled out the contents. Alex and John hurried over to see over his shoulder. It _was _another picture, but not one he'd drawn. Below was a sentence.

It was a photo of Abigail, Terri, Penelope, and Suzie, taken by Bradshaw. Whether it was before or after he'd killed them, Alex wasn't sure, but they were laid in their beds, just as Sherlock had described. Each of the girls sleeping. And underneath, the words,

_You did this._

"What does this mean?" Alex asked, looking at Sherlock. His eyes were fixed on the picture, noticeably staring at Penelope. Her little blue painted nails. "Sherlock?"

"What?" he mumbled.

"What do we do? He obviously doesn't mean that innocuously."

"I got it wrong."

"What?"

Sherlock's eyes glazed over, "He doesn't blame me for not getting there in time. Quite the opposite."

"He blames you for finding him," John said.

"If I hadn't told the police where to look, if I hadn't led them to Bradshaw, the girls would still be alive. He didn't want to hurt them, he wanted to love them. He was only pushed to kill them because I found him."

"And what now he wants revenge?" Alex asked. "Why after all this time?"

Sherlock brandished the bursting folder in her face, "This is years of work. He's wanted to avenge his daughters since he woke up and realised the overdose hadn't killed him. It's only now he's been given the opportunity to act. A momentary lapse in security he's been waiting for for nearly a decade."

Alex groaned, flopping down on the sofa, "Why him? Of all the prisoners in the world to escape, why is it the one with a burning desire to cut your heart out? What are the chances!"

Sherlock gave her a pointed look, "I don't think this is just chance. We've heard that phrase before."

"I don't understand."

"The head of Bradshaw's security detail has just killed himself. His second-in-command won an all-inclusive holiday to the Bahamas and jetted it off last week. The next one down from _him _is currently in hospital with her young son who was hit by an as yet unidentified car and is on life support. And the apprentice at the bottom of the ladder was injured when a patient stabbed him with a smuggled shank. What do you make of that?" Sherlock asked.

"Out of all them, I'd like to be the second-in-command," John said, obviously trying to diffuse the tension.

"It was orchestrated," Alex said. "It was planned so they'd get inexperienced support staff in. But who would do that? Bradshaw was just an ordinary, slightly delusional man. He isn't capable of… oh…" she sighed. "He _consulted _with someone."

"And who's our favourite consulting criminal?"

"_Daddy!" _Alex sang out sardonically. "_Great_. Was wondering when he'd next hear from him. CCTV of him with Bradshaw?"

Sherlock shook his head, taking out his phone, "This man. Recognise him?"

Alex squinted at the screen. The grainy picture showed a man sat opposite a cuffed Bradshaw. He was clean shaven with a smart suit. He sat perfectly straight. He strangely reminded her of Mycroft.

"No," Alex said. "I don't recognise him."

"I thought you wouldn't. He's probably just one of his minions. We need to go back to Scotland Yard. I just came to get this and," he made vague motions to Alex and Mrs Hudson. "Make sure you two weren't dead."

"Hey, it isn't us he wants dead," Alex said, pointing to the folder.

"And I admire his ambition for doing so," Sherlock said with a smile. "You can be reassured that I am extremely hard to kill."

As Alex pulled on her coat and followed them out of the flat, she hoped with all of her heart that he was right.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: toffeshop, armstrongjess, POTC misty potter temple, TheCurlyGal6218, shnuffeluv, RainbowSilenced, FlewandFlied, kuppcake, and Aria of Life for reviewing!<strong>

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**Abby**

**X**


	103. A Father's Love - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: I hope everyone had a nice week! Anyone do anything interesting? Mine was just full of schoolwork and writing, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be. I'm also nearly finished writing this case up! 2-3 more chapters after this one. The events in this chapter have been thoroughly researched.**

**Apologies for any mistakes, being this sleepy isn't good for proofreading.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Hey, it isn't us he wants dead," Alex said, pointing to the folder._

_"And I admire his ambition for doing so," Sherlock said with a smile. "You can be reassured that I am extremely hard to kill."_

_As Alex pulled on her coat and followed them out of the flat, she hoped with all of her heart that he was right._

Scotland Yard had definitely become a sort of second home to Alex. Well, a third home. First home was wherever she and Sherlock were living, second home Mycroft's house, third the Yard. And though Sherlock found it extremely irritating being around so many morons in one building, Alex really did love Lestrade's company. As long as they were in his office away from idiots like Anderson and Donovan, that was.

But as she sat down in her usual spot in one of the comfy chairs beside Lestrade's desk, it didn't feel like it always had. Perhaps it was seeing all of the graphic drawings of Sherlock in different stages of being murdered spread across the table. Or maybe the faces of dead girls plastered across the wall.

She tried not to look too upset as she, John, Lestrade, and Sherlock combed through the pictures and CCTV and reports of Bradshaw during his time at Havenport. It seemed, however, that though Sherlock and John were fully concentrated on the case, Lestrade had noticed the way Alex kept worrying her lip between her teeth, periodically making it bleed. He subtly came over to her chair and handed her a tenner from his pocket.

"Go and get yourself a sandwich from the stand outside," he said quietly.

She shook her head, "No, no, keep your money."

"I insist."

"Honestly, it's fine."

He sighed at her, "Would you get something if I asked you to bring me back a coffee too?"

Alex hesitated for a moment, finally relenting and taking the note, "Sugar, no milk, right?"

He nodded and gave her a smile. As she got up and walked out into the corridor, the detective inspector popped his head round the corner of the door, calling her name. She turned, black curls bouncing behind her.

"Don't worry about Sherlock. We'll find Bradshaw, like we have all the others."

She gave him a half-smile, deliberating whether or not to say what she actually wanted to say to that then deciding against it, "Course we will. You want a donut with your coffee?"

"You know me too well, Holmes."

The sandwich stand that stood outside Scotland Yard was one that Alex had frequented since she was little. Not usually for food, as she and Sherlock didn't tend to eat all that much out on the go, but for teas and coffees. She surprised herself though when her stomach gave a growl and decided on a whim to get a burger, using her own money instead of Lestrade's.

She went up to the window, frowning a little when she saw the lady that usually ran the stand – Constance – wasn't there. Constance was a constantly blushing, slightly overweight woman who had a permanent grin on her face and always gave Alex free biscuits with her tea. Instead was a man she assumed must have been the woman's husband. A second chef stood with his back towards her, busy with the stove.

"Hello, um, one cheeseburger, one coffee with sugar and no milk, one coffee with sugar and a little milk, one coffee with just milk, and one tea with just milk, please," Alex said. "Oh, and one donut!"

The thing about Constance was she could easily deal with the difficult orders Alex made. Her husband looked back at her blankly and got her to repeat the order several times before he got it right. She didn't mind; the longer she spent here, the less time she would have to spend trapped in an office with the collage of her uncle's many corpses.

Once she had the food and drinks, Alex sat down on the bench next to it and ate her burger slowly. She was worrying needlessly, wasn't she? Sherlock was more than capable of looking after himself. He had proved that on many occasions. But Alex couldn't help the thought that if anything ever happened to him…

"No," she said firmly to herself.

Nothing was going to happen to him, it couldn't. Alex looked up to the window she knew belonged to Lestrade's office, knowing they'd be in there. Suddenly, she felt a stab of guilt. Here she was sat eating when they were working themselves to death. With a shake of her head at herself, she closed the box on her burger and stacked the drinks on top, making her way back to the office.

John and Lestrade took theirs with a smile, Lestrade rolling his eyes at her when she handed him back his tenner. She told him to shut up and eat his donut.

"Got you coffee," Alex said to Sherlock.

She could tell he wasn't really listening to her when he muttered, "Just put it on the desk."

She looked at the drawing he was so focussed on. It was, of course, Sherlock, but this time he was sat in the same chair Bradshaw had been sat in and instead of Abigail, Terri, Penelope, and Suzie in the beds, there were mounds. They had no faces but there were hands and legs peeking out from the sides of the bed as they slept.

"Who are they?"

Sherlock didn't answer and took a big gulp of his coffee. Alex realised he wouldn't be talking to her and went back to her chair, watching him with concern. Having lost her appetite, Alex went to put her burger in the bin. As she did, it fell out of its polystyrene box and she saw small dots of what looked to be mould coating the underside of the meat. Alex turned her nose up, making a disgusted noise and resolving not to go back to the stand she had been such a loyal customer of.

It was no wonder to her when she began to feel quite sick when she sat back down and rested her hand on her forehead. It had just been the sight of it, she knew, it couldn't have caused her issues already. She had that to look forward to later. She had a good mind to go to the chef that kept his back turned, turn him round and throw the burger in his face.

"Alex."

Sherlock's voice brought her out of her meat-face-mushing fantasy, "Hmm?"

"What did Bradshaw say to you when he gave you the letter? Exactly?"

"He asked if you lived there and I said yes, I lived with you. Then he went all weird and looked really shocked, asking me if I was your daughter."

"Did you correct him?"

"What?"

"Did you tell him I'm not your father?"

"No I was more concerned with the fact I might have been conversing with a child murderer at that point," she peered closely at her uncle's face as the concern it held tripled. "Why? What's wrong?"

"The children under the covers, they aren't the girls he took," Sherlock said, beckoning her over to stand beside him and look. "He'd never draw them in the same picture as me. He wouldn't lower them to that. They have no faces, only small hands and feet, so they _are _children…"

"Okay," Alex drew out confused.

Sherlock pressed his lips together, looking at her before saying, "They're my children."

Alex flinched, "Wh-what?"

"He hasn't drawn their faces because he doesn't know what they look like. Of course he wouldn't, they don't exist."

"But why would he want to draw your children?"

"He wants revenge. Wants me to feel what he did. To have the ones he loved taken away from him. I would see it as my fault because my children would be dead, like his," he pointed to the uncannily accurate sketch of him dead in the chair, both his hand by his side. "He would leave me to kill myself like he did," he pointed now to something above the drawing's mouth that Alex had to strain to see: an almost transparent, faintly drawn third hand, pushing what looked to be a tiny pill into Sherlock's mouth. "Or he will kill me himself if I don't."

"Jesus," John whispered.

Alex locked eyes with Sherlock, understanding what he was saying, "He thinks I'm your daughter."

He nodded, "He's going to try to hurt you."

Alex's stomach suddenly clenched, eyes widening. Her throat went instantly dry, hands shaking as she thought back to the sandwich stand. To the chef that didn't show his face. To the coating of off-white powder-like substance that was on the bottom of the burger.

"I think he already has."

"What–?"

But Alex was already gone, dashing out of the office and bolting down the corridor and into the ladies toilets. She dived to her knees in an open cubical and shoved two fingers down her throat, immediately vomiting. She felt someone holding her hair back as she retched, bringing up everything she had eaten in the past day. Eventually, the heaving stopped and Alex leant back against whoever was holding her hair, and who was of course, Sherlock.

He helped her up and turned on the tap for her to wash her mouth out.

"You're not supposed to be in the ladies," Alex said through a mouthful of water.

He rubbed her back, "I think this warrants it. You okay?"

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded, "It was the food from the stand. Don't reckon he'll still be there but…"

Sherlock was already texting Lestrade with his free hand.

"It looked like mould but actually it was a little too white to be. Should've known then, I guess," Alex admitted.

"I'm going to take you to Bart's and get someone to look over you and make sure there's nothing left over from whatever it was," he said, putting the back of his hand to her head. "You're not burning up so it mustn't be too fast-working. Do you feel any pain or nausea that wasn't self-inflicted?"

Alex shook her head, "No."

He kept an arm around her as they walked out of Scotland Yard where John and Lestrade were waiting by Lestrade's car, holding the burger box retrieved from the bin. John, ever the doctor, questioned her on the way and went with her to see another doctor while Sherlock and Lestrade went to the lab to see what the food Alex had eaten had been laced with.

As Alex had expected, Bradshaw had took off after serving her.

Four hours, eight tests, and some activated charcoal as a precaution later, Alex was declared healthy. Sherlock had ran some tests on the food and told the doctor is was ricin. None was found in her blood as she had acted so quickly and hadn't ingested too much of it in the first place. However, her brush with death had left her a little stunned. She had felt fine! After reassuring John that she would be okay to carry on and that she didn't want to go to bed and sleep off the shock, they went to the labs to meet Sherlock and Lestrade.

When the entered, the two men were talking in low voices and immediately ceased as soon as they saw Alex and John. Alex had a feeling it was more about her presence than John's that made them stop.

"Is she okay?" Sherlock asked John, causing Alex to raise her eyebrows. "They didn't find anything wrong?"

"No, she threw up all of whatever it was. Smart move by the way, I don't think I've said that yet," John praised.

"Smart move indeed," Sherlock said, turning to his niece. "Untreated, the ricin would have killed you. Someone your weight, size, and age, when you started to show symptoms it would have probably been too late."

"Well if you hadn't said what you said, I wouldn't have known. I didn't really do anything. I would be stood here now and it would be killing me and I wouldn't even know," Alex said, troubled.

Sherlock nodded, "It is odourless and tasteless, you wouldn't have known anything about it. I have no doubt he had a little help from you-know-who but ricin manufacture is extremely easy. You could make it if you wanted to. All you need to do is get some castor beans and heat them–"

Lestrade cleared his throat, "Please don't teach fatal poison manufacture to a minor while I'm stood here. Really don't want to have to be sacked for not reporting it if Alex goes on a murder spree."

"Don't have one planned," Alex said with a smile. "What happens now then? Won't he read in the papers that I'm not actually your daughter and all this will go away?"

"While reading the news or the blog, he'll see I have no children. So then, presumably, he'll target the people I care about. Or he assumes I care about. That encompasses you and John."

John looked startled at this revelation, "He's coming after me?"

"Not right away, I expect," Sherlock said. "He'll still be recovering from trying to kill Alex. For all he knows she could be dead. Though if he was smart he would have been at a vantage point to see if you were taken to hospital, and see that you were."

"We need to get somewhere safe," John said.

Sherlock's eyes clouded with thought, eyes narrowing as he did so.

"We could go to Mycroft's house?" Alex suggested. "No one could get in there without him knowing."

"No."

Alex sighed exasperatedly, "Sherlock, can't you put aside your differences for this?"

"I'm in favour that plan and I really don't like the man," John said. "Sorry, Alex."

"Don't worry, I don't like him most of the time either. Sherlock?"

"No."

"Well you're outvoted," she took out her phone. "I'm ringing him now."

Sherlock made a dive for her phone and she stepped back out of his reach, her call to Mycroft connecting almost immediately.

_"Alex, not calling to tell me you've got another murderer on your doorstep?"_

"No, actually. Um, well not too much of a stretch. Could we possibly lay low at yours for a while?"

_"Why would you need to do that?"_

"Sherlock will explain when we get there. Please, we're kind of a bit desperate," she mouthed at Sherlock to piss off when he glowered at her. "Please."

_"You know, something very interesting just popped up on your medical records."_

"Really? And you just happened to have them on hand did you?"

_"Care to explain?"_

"Long, boring story. Discuss more in person?" Alex said hopefully.

He paused, _"And will Sherlock be coming?"_

"Yes. And John."

She had no doubt he was internally groaning, _"I'll have some bedrooms set up."_

"Thank you!"

At this point, Sherlock grabbed her phone and ended the call, "What did you do that for?"

"Can you stop being so childish?"

"And that's coming from the child," Lestrade added.

Alex sent him a look, "Watch it."

"Really not a priority right now, Alex," John said.

"Now look who's being a child," Sherlock snapped.

"Hey! You can't shout at someone who's just been poisoned, you're not allowed!"

"You're fine!"

"You've changed your tune!"

"Well you_ have_ just signed my death warrant. Go to Uncle Mycroft's! What a great idea, Alex!"

"I have no idea how my mum dealt with you two, I really don't!"

"She hated him as much as I do!"

"You know that isn't true!"

"Well she liked me the best. Like you do."

"Hah! Only you, Sherlock Holmes, could think that at this point! Right now, I like John better than you or Mycroft! And Greg," she added, seeing his offended look.

"Is this really what I'm going to have to put up with for the next few days?" John asked wearily, motioning between the two.

"No, John," Sherlock said with a sigh. "Mycroft's going to be there so it's going to be much, much, much worse."

Alex punched his arm.

* * *

><p>Alex hadn't expected Sherlock to be thrilled to see her other uncle when they arrived at his home, but she hadn't anticipated him completely blanking his older brother in his study, and going off to one of the rooms without another word. She had thought he was going to do the explaining. Obviously not. She groaned aloud.<p>

John gave her an amused look, "You want me to give you and Mycroft some privacy to talk about things?"

"Not really but I wouldn't want to subject you to what Mycroft no doubt has to say about this," she said, looking nervously into her uncle's study.

"You think he's going to be upset with you?"

"Of course not," Alex said. "I've done nothing wrong. Plus, Mycroft doesn't get 'upset'. He silently seethes and then kidnaps whoever has… has…"

"Upset him?" John asked with a laugh.

Alex nodded, smiling, "Mycroft's the stricter one. They both worry about me, I know. They have different ways of showing it. I prefer Sherlock's way, just try to ignore it or if it can't be ignored then stick together like glue 'til he's figured it out. Mycroft is much more in favour of locking me up somewhere where I can't get into trouble. Unfortunately Sherlock's picked up a few of his habits over the years…" she sighed. "I'm worried about him."

"You were just arguing with him half an hour ago!"

"That was just a play-argument. Something to ease the tension because I know Sherlock hates being here and hates being forced here even more. And this goddamn case, John," Alex blew out a breath. "You'll keep an eye on him, won't you?"

"You sound like Mycroft."

"Please, John," Alex said, not amused by his tease. "It's hard for me to protect him when he's so dead-set on protecting me."

"I will. I always will," John said sincerely. "I'll always be there to make sure Sherlock doesn't do something ridiculously idiotic and get himself killed."

Alex smiled faintly at that, "Thank you. I'm not just saying it when I tell you that Sherlock and I probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. And Sherlock, though he doesn't show it, really is grateful. He'd do anything for you."

John nodded with a solemn yet proud smile.

"I'd better go and clue Mycroft in then. As if he isn't already but you know."

"Where do I…?"

"Oh! Sorry! Um, Sherlock will have taken the nicest room just to mess it up no doubt, so the second nicest would be… oh," she pointed up the stairs. "Turn left at the top of the stairs and it's the fifth or sixth along."

"This place is huge," John said as he began to climb the steps.

"Well, you know my uncles. Modest isn't in their vocabulary."

He gave her a grin and disappeared around the corner of the landing, still looking around in wonder. Alex had long since grown accustomed to the grand house but in that moment, she looked around and saw just how much the place meant to her. She had spent so much of her childhood within its walls, causing mayhem in every room, from breaking windows with footballs to spilling huge vats of marbles down the stairs. And in a rare moment, looking back on time gone by didn't make her sad.

She took a deep breath before knocking on the door to Mycroft's study.

"Come in."

Whether or not it was the current situation making her jumpy or her sudden nostalgia, Alex felt butterflies in her stomach as she opened the door a crack. She popped her head round with a nervous smile.

Seeing who it was, Mycroft put down his pen.

"Come and sit down."

The words weren't spoken sternly, in fact, they were said with a smile, but Alex wrung her hands nonetheless as she sat opposite him, perching on the very edge of the chair.

He frowned at her, "You seem anxious."

Alex shook her head, "No, not anxious."

He gave her a disbelieving look, narrowing his eyes in thought. A smile curved his lips after a moment or two of deducing.

"You don't like it in here?" he asked in amusement.

"What? Course I do," Alex looked around, trying to hide her disdain. "It's a lovely room."

"Then why do you look like you'd rather be in a stable?"

"I," she faltered. "I'm feeling very reminiscent. This room doesn't hold especially good memories."

"Because this is the room you'd be sent to when you'd broken something. Or spilt something. Or stayed out after curfew. Or kicked something through a window. Or pushed someone in a pond. Or got into trouble at school. Or got into trouble at school. Or got into trouble at school. Or – "

"Okay!" Alex cut him off, laughing. "God, you make it sound like I was the spawn of the devil."

"You were, as you so eloquently put it, 'the spawn of the devil'. Thankfully, your behaviour has begun to ameliorate."

"Come again?"

He sighed, "Have you revised for your English exam at all?"

"Yeah, a bit. It doesn't help you when spew out more words I don't understand than Dictionary Corner. What does ameliorate mean?"

"Get better."

"Oh," she paused, then brightened. "Thanks!"

"Hmm. Out of curiosity, what incident unsettles you the most that took place in here?"

"That's a very serial killer thing to say, Mycroft," Alex teased. "But, if I had to answer, probably the… the um… Wow, there's a lot. Maybe the party thing when I was twelve. Or the smoking. I thought you were going to put me over your knee that time."

"I was considering it."

Alex laughed, "I'm very proud and surprised that you've never done that in my life."

"You were a very trying child. I surprised even myself with how much restraint I showed. Then again, I grew up being an elder brother to Sherlock and your mother."

At the mention of her other uncle's name, Alex's smile fell. She knew it hadn't gone unnoticed by Mycroft and he stood up.

"Since you aren't in trouble, may I suggest moving to another room?"

Alex nodded, "How about my room?"

Despite knowing Mycroft would have rather vacated to the sitting room, Alex ploughed on to her room just two doors down from Mycroft's study – placed there when she was born so that he could hear her if she cried. Back in the familiar room, on her own turf, she suddenly felt much more confident. She sat on the edge of her bed while Mycroft pulled out her desk chair and sat opposite her.

"So you know about the whole Bradshaw thing?"

"I'd be a very poor guardian if I didn't," Mycroft countered. "I assume you're not feeling an ill-effects from his recent attempt to kill you?"

"Bit blunt, Mycroft," Alex said uncomfortably. "But no, I'm okay. Except, worried. I'm worried about Sherlock."

Mycroft leant back in the chair, regarding her with one of those looks that infuriated Alex to no end – the ones she couldn't read, "You still manage to astound me, Alex."

"What do you mean?"

"Not even six hours ago, you were poisoned. It is clear that Bradshaw means to kill you, yet you worry about Sherlock."

"He means to kill Sherlock, too."

"But after you. Our first concern is keeping you safe. That's Sherlock and I's job."

"I don't care about whose job it is to take care of who," Alex said in frustration. "I know I can't take care of myself when it comes to someone like Bradshaw, past experiences have hammered that into me. I'm not a child anymore and I'm not indestructible. But neither's Sherlock."

Alex looked down at her lap, overcome for a moment.

"You think I would let something happen to Sherlock? You know the lengths I go to to keep you both safe," Mycroft said.

"I know," she looked up again. "Did you see the drawings Bradshaw did?"

Mycroft sighed, "I told Sherlock not to let you see those."

Alex frowned, "You talked?"

"Of course we did."

"When?"

"When Bradshaw first escaped. I was the one who got the drawings and the caseload transferred to Scotland Yard. Otherwise the local police force in Havenport would have taken over, which would have been a disaster."

Alex paused, digesting this information. It was comforting to know that they were both taking it seriously enough to enlist each other's help, though Alex was sure it wasn't put like that. Having both Holmeses on the case would help greatly, even if Mycroft had an aversion to legwork.

"Wait," Alex said, a thought striking her. "Did you know about Bradshaw's plan? About the whole wanting Sherlock dead after killing me thing?"

"Yes. Sherlock and I knew."

"When?"

"When I first saw the drawings."

"But that must have been before Sherlock figured it out. I mean, I was there with him when he got it in Scotland Yard. He went through it all."

"No, Alex. That was when he chose for you to know. And John, I imagine. He knew in a matter of an hour after Bradshaw's escape was broadcast on television. I'm guessing he put on a good show with his deductions, but I assure you it was rehearsed."

Again, Alex fell silent, mind working in overdrive, "Rehearsed up until the poisoning thing, right?"

"Yes, that was a shock. A rude awakening that has no doubt instilled the seriousness of this into him. Being here is the best thing for both of you."

"This was all planned, wasn't it?" Alex said in realisation. "We were already coming here. That's why the bedrooms were made up so quickly. You planned for us to stay here long before I called you. Why didn't you just say? And why did Sherlock put up such a fuss when I said I was calling you if it was all arranged?"

"We didn't want to scare you," Mycroft said. "We agreed to keep things as normal as possible. If Sherlock had immediately caved in and approved of coming here or even suggested it himself, wouldn't you be a little unsettled?"

"It would be weird," Alex admitted.

"You'd worry. We wanted to avoid that as much as possible."

"I think I began to worry the exact moment I saw Bradshaw on TV. And then the horrific drawings, and then the poisoning, and now we're here and I'm sure as hell worried."

He gave her a withering look at her language.

"I'm still not allowed to say things like that?" Alex asked, eyebrow arched in amusement. She sobered. "So what happens now?"

"We wait."

"Is that code for 'we have a plan but we're not telling you'?"

"Precisely."

Alex flopped back onto her bed, "I wish I was a kid again. All I had to worry about was which route I was going to use to sneak out or how long I was grounded for."

"You were actually rather worrity even as a child," he gave her a smile as he stood up and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" Alex asked, sitting up.

"I need to have a word with Sherlock," he replied.

"Can I come?"

"No."

"Is it about my father?"

"Don't call him that."

"But is it? Is that what you're talking about? Because he's helping Bradshaw isn't he, Bradshaw hired him?"

"Bradshaw hired someone who is acting on James Moriarty's behalf."

"How do you know that? Do you know where Moriarty is?"

Mycroft stilled, "You don't need to know. Just know that we know and be content with that."

"Mycroft," he stopped in the doorway, not turning at her voice. "You'd tell me if there was something going on with him, wouldn't you?"

There was a beat, "Of course."

"Because I'd want to help."

Alex swore that what she could see of her uncle's face darkened and his fists clenched for just the tiniest of seconds. So fast that Alex thought she had imagined it.

"I'll have something for dinner brought through for you in a little while. If you're up to it?" he asked, but was gone before Alex could reply.

She sat on her bed for a little longer, chewing on her lip. She knew it would be useless to try and eavesdrop on Mycroft and Sherlock, they would know in an instant. Therefore, when she felt she needed to move somewhere else to think, she went out into the garden and sat on the slightly-rotting wooden plank attached to a tree branch with twine. A swing she had made with Sherlock when she had been bored one day a long time ago.

She was surprised it still took her weight, and even more surprised when it still had a good swing in it. She leant her head against one of the ropes and swung lazily, feet grazing the ground as she looked up at the only permanent home she had ever known.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: FlewandFlied, RainbowSilenced, armstrongjess, POTC misty potter temple, shuffeluv, emilybrock101, Romantic Journalist, TheCurlyGal6218, and AzureTheVampire for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies will be sent to you in the morning because once again I am about to pass out and faceplant my keyboard. **

**Watch out for Little Innocent on Wednesday!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**x**


	104. A Father's Love - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for not updating Little Innocent on Wednesday, the next update shall be on time. This case is almost finished now! Nice long chapter for you all.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She was surprised it still took her weight, and even more surprised when it still had a good swing in it. She leant her head against one of the ropes and swung lazily, feet grazing the ground as she looked up at the only permanent home she had ever known. _

It was beginning to get dusk, the night bringing in a small chill. Alex managed to stick it out on the swing for a little longer until it got too cold and she decided it was time to go in. She made a beeline for the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, sitting next to John at the table in the centre of the room. He was looking at his laptop screen, which Alex saw was showing a news website. The article in question was about the three of them.

**The Holmeses and Watson strike again! **was the title.

It then went on to delve into the story of their most recent case, to do with a bird-obsessed taxidermist. Not one of their more exciting ones. It didn't seem too focussed on the case, though, and more focussed on Alex, John, and Sherlock.

**But who really knows who this dark, mysterious, genius Sherlock Holmes is going to do next? Could he maybe be the one to solve the case of Jack the Ripper? I'd bet my money he is. And with a face like that, he can crack my case any day.**

Alex whistled, "Better not let Sherlock read that. He'll permanently have his coat collar up."

John snorted, "Read mine."

**John Watson is a beautiful contrast to Holmes. His faithful blogger, Watson is currently single and ready to mingle. And who could resist that quaint, down-to-earth charm?**

"Wow," Alex laughed. "'Single and ready to mingle'? Really?"

"I might announce I have a wife to spite them," he said as he scrolled down the page filled with how fanciable Sherlock was. "Oh, here's yours."

**Alex Holmes was also part of the case. **

"That's it? Really? You two get pages and I get a sentence?" Alex gave a mock huff. "That's it, I'm talking to the editor. Just confirms the fact that I'm the least popular out of the three of us. No one likes a teenager."

"Well there are plenty of teenagers in the comments section," John said, showing her.

There were hundreds of comments and a figure showed that the article had been read thousands of times.

"Never underestimate the power of the press," Alex muttered, when one comment caught her eye.

**StarMonkey69: You'd think with the money they just got paid with she'd be able to afford some proper make-up! Looks paler than a glass of milk :'D**

"Oh, StarMonkey69, that's just not nice," Alex shook her head.

"To be fair, it was a bad photo of you they put up."

"Let's have a look."

John showed her the thumbnail picture. She was halfway through talking to John, squinting against the sun and in the process of lifting up her hand to block the light. The result was a blurry, cringing mess.

Alex sighed, "Really? I'm definitely talking to the editor now."

"There are plenty of comments defending you though."

Sure enough, there was the odd comeback, people rallying on Alex's side. She couldn't help but smile at some of the things they were saying.

"They all seem to majorly love Sherlock though. Some of these are quite disturbing from my position."

"Have you seen him at all?" John asked, closing the lid of his laptop.

"Sherlock? No. I've been in the garden all afternoon. Hasn't he been out of the bedroom?"

John shook his head.

Alex grimaced, "Better go and see if he's alright. See you in the morning."

He gave her a smile as she left, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the second floor. Sherlock had taken the biggest and nicest room at the front of the house, at the end of the corridor. Alex knocked lightly.

There was no answer.

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still not answer.

Knowing better than to panic whenever Sherlock didn't open a door, Alex cracked it open herself and saw him, as she expected, sat by the window with his hands tucked under his chin. She cleared her throat, and when he didn't respond to that, she walked in and shook his shoulder. His eyes suddenly came back to life and he stared up at her in surprise.

"Sorry to interrupt you," Alex said. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay. No one has seen you for hours."

"I'm fine. Are you?"

"I'm good. What did you and Mycroft talk about?" she asked as she sat opposite him on the edge of the bed.

He hesitated for just a second before answering, "Bradshaw."

"What about him?"

"Nothing you need to know."

Alex gritted her teeth at his words - she was getting deja vu ten times over - but didn't feel it was the right time to start an argument, "The swing's still working."

"What?"

"The swing we built in the garden years ago."

He looked at her blankly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You deleted it?"

"Must have."

She tried to hide her disappointment, opting for a nonchalant shrug, "Doesn't really matter."

He stood up and began to pace up and down the room, breathing becoming deeper and deeper.

"Sherlock, you're not okay."

"Of course I am."

"You don't have to try and figure this out on your own," she said in what she hoped was a consoling voice.

"Yes I do. I started it."

"No, Bradshaw started it when he took Abigail and Terri from their flat. You didn't do anything except try to find them and do what was right."

"And what's right now? Because I can't lure him out of wherever he's hiding because he wants you first. He's dead set on that. Which means I can't get to him without using you. What's right about that?"

"I'll do it," Alex said instantly. "Do it, use me to do whatever you want."

He gave her a withering look, "Stop being stupid. It isn't brave to throw your life away like that. In fact it's incredibly selfish."

"Selfish?!"

"Yes. Something would go wrong as it always does, and he'd kill you. You'd be dead, killed cleanly and quickly. Painless. Where would that leave everyone else? You said the same thing about your mother. Makes you a bit of a hypocrite, don't you think?"

Alex couldn't answer that.

"Exactly," he said, turning away from her.

It was a few moments later that Alex managed to speak, "If the end justifies the means…"

Sherlock stopped pacing, letting out a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had his back to Alex, who was watching with growing concern as he stood rooted to the spot. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a single, deep breath. Long minutes passed.

"And if those means are hurting your family?" Sherlock turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. "If the end_ did _justify the means. If you could save other people but hurt the ones you care about."

Alex narrowed her eyes, a new worry blossoming in her chest.

"This isn't about Bradshaw is it," Alex said slowly. "You're talking about something else."

He looked away, saying quietly and without conviction, almost resignedly, "What makes you say that?"

"Because in this situation, the end wouldn't justify the means. He doesn't want to hurt anyone other than us two, maybe John. We wouldn't be saving other people, one of us would be saving the other two. That's what you were saying, but now you're talking about something else. What are you talking about?"

He stayed silent, staring at the door. Alex slipped off the bed and walked over to him, touching his arm.

"What's going on with you?" she asked. "We'll find Bradshaw and he'll be sent back to Havenport, then we can get on with our lives again. Yeah? I hate seeing like this, you usually enjoy cases-"

"You thought I'd _enjoy _this case?" Sherlock snapped.

"No, I didn't mean that. I just mean that I'm not used to you being shaken up by things. I-I don't know what I mean," Alex faltered, then gathered herself again. "If there's something else wrong here, please tell me."

This time, he looked her in the eye. For a few moments, they stood staring at each other, trying to deduce what the other was thinking. Alex had no doubt Sherlock knew exactly what _she _was thinking, but she, as usual, couldn't make out the look on her uncle's face. It was blank, yet there was some hint of emotion shining through that Alex hadn't seen before. She didn't understand it. When he opened his mouth to speak, she thought he was going to tell her what he was obviously keeping from her, but he didn't.

"Bradshaw is the main concern."

"Main?"

"Only," he corrected. "And that's the way it's going to stay."

Alex tried to continue to stare him out, but that mystery emotion was gone and had been replaced with a raised eyebrow. She admitted defeat, knowing there was no way she was going to be able to get anything else out of him for the time being.

"So what do you want to do about Bradshaw then?" she asked, tone slightly dejected.

"Get John and meet me in Mycroft's study. I'll explain everything there."

She nodded and walked out of the door, pausing in the hallway. She turned back to her uncle.

"You've got a plan."

"Yes."

"And will the end justify the means?"

Not giving her the small smile she was expecting, Sherlock said completely stony-faced, "I'm hoping so."

Alex sat in the back of one of Mycroft's cars, repeating her instructions over and over in her mind. Her hands had been shaking the entire drive over to the street just a few blocks away from 221B - she didn't bother looking at the name - and they had only just stopped. She knew it would give it away and had forced herself to calm down.

"Are you ready?" Anthea asked from her position next to her, sat in the roadside seat.

Alex swallowed, trying to act braver than she was actually feeling, "Yes."

Anthea gave her clasped hands a reassuring squeeze, "You'll be okay. Remember, we have people all around in case things go too far."

"Things can go too far very quickly."

"Not if you stick to the plan," Anthea countered.

Alex nodded distantly, blinking, "I've done way worse things than this, I don't know why I'm so scared."

"Because this is an official plan made by your uncles and not one you've just made up on the hoof," Anthea said with a smile. "You won't let them down."

Alex gave her a tight smile back. It wasn't about letting them down if things went badly. Because if things went badly, she wouldn't be going back.

Sherlock's words had been circulating around her head, about her having a painless death while they would shoulder what she did when her mother died. The guilt, the shock, the agony, the nightmares. Not that she thought they would react the same way she had. She was ruled by sentiment, they by logic. But she did know they cared about her, and she knew if anything did happen, it would affect them.

"Stop worrying," Anthea said, sterner now. "You need to pull yourself together. You _have _to make this look as real as possible and we've already been sat here for too long. We need to start. Are you ready?"

Alex swallowed again, foot tapping restlessly.

"Alex, are you ready?"

"Wait, just... give me a minute."

"Alex?"

Her hands had begun to shake again. She opened her eyes - when had she shut them? - when she heard Anthea's phone ping.

**Bring her back.**

Seeing the text, Alex set her jaw.

"Alex," Anthea began. "It's okay, we'll go back and try tomorrow. There's no rush-"

But Alex was already unbuckling her seatbelt and fumbling with the door handle, her face like thunder. She swung open the door and climbed out. She heard Anthea's car door open too, and the woman's heels tapping as she jogged to catch up to where Alex was storming down the path. Somehow she seemed to move faster in heels than Alex did in trainers.

"Alex, it's okay. Come on, come back. You know it isn't safe," she said, a surprised undertone to her voice.

Alex shot her a filthy look, "I can take care of myself! Stop babying me! I just need some space to... to grieve."

"We can go wherever you want, just say the word."

"By 'we' you mean, you, me, and my many minders. For God's sake, it's ridiculous! I'm not a little girl!" she turned the corner. "I need to be on my own."

Anthea hurried to catch up with her, "Your uncle wants you to come home."

"I'll ring him myself. Go away."

"Alex -"

"I mean it!" Alex wheeled on her furiously. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"I can't, your uncle told me -"

"You can tell my uncle what I'm about to tell you now," Alex moved so that her face was inches away from Anthea's. The woman's beautiful, brown eyes widened, intimidated. "Piss. Off."

When she turned on her heel and began to walk away, she noted the lack of heel-tapping and knew Anthea had stopped following her and had gone back to the car. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to maintain the pissed expression on her face by pursing her lips and letting out stroppy huffs every few seconds.

She kept walking until she reached the street just before Baker Street, and took out her phone, ringing John.

_"Alex, get back in the car. Mycroft is furious."_

"I'm sick of all of it. It's suffocating," Alex replied thickly.

_"Just wait for now until Bradshaw is caught and then we can talk, okay? I know this is hard."_

"You don't know anything!"

_"This isn't how he would want you to be, Alex. He loved you, he wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger."_

Alex put a hand over her face, biting her lip, "I know... I'm just going to 221B, one last time. Pick up some stuff."

_"And then you'll come back?"_

"Then I'll come back," she nodded and ended the call.

She had no doubt Moriarty's partner who was helping Bradshaw was listening to that conversation. She knew John sounded sincere enough, she just hoped she could match his standard. So much was riding on this.

She rounded the corner and her heart rate doubled at the sight of 221B. She hurried to the door and unlocked it, pausing in the hallway. Mrs Hudson had gone to stay with her sister and everything was so quiet. No Connie Prince reruns, or anything equally rubbish, sounding from her flat. Just eerie silence. Alex pushed away the thought that this could be a glimpse into the future.

She walked straight up the two flight of stairs to her bedroom, and went to stand by the window. She could see one of her 'minders', as she'd called them, in the window of one of the flats across the alley. He made eye contact with her for a moment and gave a fraction of a nod before turning back to the TV he was pretending to watch.

Stood in the silence of her room, Alex heard the moment he reached the door. She heard it open, then close again, and then his footsteps slowly making their way up to her room. She was facing away from the door when he entered. The sound of his breathing made Alex turn slowly to look at him.

He looked terrible. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, filled with tears already. Every inch of him was shivering violently and he looked like he might vomit at any given moment. That, or keel over, perhaps. His hair was matted and greasy, separated into strands after so many times of being nervously combed through with nervous hands. His face trembled.

Alex kept her own face as distraught as possible, "Bradshaw."

His clothes hung off him, sleeves so long that it concealed the knife he had in his hand. It only became visible when he lifted it up. Alex's eyes widened, and he let out a whimper.

"I don't want to d-do this," he said hoarsely.

It wasn't as hard as Alex expected to produce tears, "Please... no more."

He stepped towards her shakily, "I'm so, so sorry. So sorry."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked as he gently grabbed her arm and began to lead her down the stairs.

She had been told not to resist, just to play along. It took everything she had not to disobey.

He pulled her into the small cloak cupboard beneath the stairs and turned on the light, shutting the door. This hadn't been part of the plan. He knew he was being watched. This was the only room in the flat they couldn't see them in. Alex glanced at the knife and suddenly thought back to that night with the Black Lotus. This was where she had hidden Sarah.

Bradshaw wiped away the tears falling down his cheeks but more just kept falling and he gave up with a heaving sob, "So sorry. I w-w-wanted to use the ricin, s-so you could b-be around your family when you d-died. Die in b-bed. Doctors could have g-given you pain medication, it w-would have been the best way. I didn't want to i-it like this."

He lifted up the knife and Alex felt it touch her throat. Now.

"Why do you need to take me, too?" she asked tearfully. "Haven't you destroyed my life enough?"

Bradshaw stopped, lip quivering so much his entire face rippled, "Wh-what?"

"My uncle," Alex cried. "You killed him! Don't you dare say you didn't."

He stepped back, blinking rapidly, "I don't..."

"The poisoned food, he ate it. We tried to get him to the hospital in time but there was nothing they could do, the amount he had ingested was too much. It had already begun to kill him."

"No, I saw _you _be taken to hospital. _He _was holding you up."

"You've got it wrong," Alex shook her head, ignoring the feeling of claustrophobia in the small space. "It was the other way around. Did you not see how pale he was?"

"He always looks that pale," Bradshaw said, but there was a sliver of doubt in his voice. "An-and he doesn't eat on cases! That's what that blog said! You're lying to me!"

"He did!" Alex insisted. Her own cheeks were moist now. "He ate all of it. We got to the hospital but they didn't know what was wrong with him until it was too late. We didn't realise it was poison."

Bradshaw took several deep breaths, growling at himself and shaking his head frantically, "That's what he said, the person who helps me. He made it for me. Told me to put it in the food. Said you wouldn't find it. Can't taste it. I-I didn't want to be there."

"You want to kill me to hurt my uncle. But my uncle's already dead."

"I don't believe you," he held the knife up to her throat again. It wouldn't have made the cut if he hadn't been shaking. His eyes widened at the tiny spot of blood on the knife and he backed up with a startled cry.

It must have only been the size of a paper cut - Alex didn't feel it.

"Hand yourself in."

He shook his head, "I can't."

"Why? You escaped to make him pay and you've done that! What else do you have to live for out here? Honestly?"

Bradshaw looked down at the knife, saying slowly, "It doesn't... _feel_... like he's dead... I don't feel... satisfaction," he looked back up at her. "I think you're lying to me."

"I'm not," Alex said, but the words came out quieter than she wanted them to.

Bradshaw's suspicious gaze intensified, "You are. You're lying."

"I swear I'm not."

"He's alive."

"I'm telling you, he's dead!"

Bradshaw's breaths hitched and his eyes darted to each corner of the cupboard, "Have to get out. Have to get out. Have to find him. Have to do it. Have to do it," he clutched the knife harder. "Have to _do it."_

"Bradshaw!" Alex shouted. "Sherlock Holmes, my uncle, is dead. You killed him. You killed him like you killed Abigail, Terri, Penelope, and Suzie. I know in your eyes each of those were justified. It wasn't murder. Killing me now would be."

The anger he had gained faded away and he gave another sob, more tears gathering in the corners of his bloodshot eyes, "I don't know what to do..."

Alex's tone turned gentle, "Hand yourself in. Go back to Havenport. You've done what you wanted to do."

He wept for another minute, sometimes escalating to agony-filled moans. Alex knew now, if she didn't before, just how damaged Bradshaw was.

"I need to be sure..." he paused. "I'll hand myself in."

Alex couldn't help a relieved smile curve her lips.

"After the funeral."

The smile fell.

"Wh-what?"

"The funeral," he repeated as if it were obvious. "After he's in the ground, I'll go."

_Funeral! Of course! Why didn't we plan for him to ask that? Why why why why why why why? _

"When is it?" he asked.

"Wednesday," Alex blurted out. Three days from now.

He nodded, collecting himself, blinking away more tears. He stored the knife in his pocket and rubbed his stubbly chin, smacking his lips.

"I'll wait until after," he said. "I'll-I'll be at Scotland Yard after. I promise."

Alex's eyes were wide and panicky - _how was this going to work?!_

Bradshaw was clearly at a loss as to what to do next. He kept sending nervous looks to the cupboard door.

"People followed you here," Bradshaw said. "They follow you everywhere. I step out and they're going to kill me, aren't they?"

Before Alex could answer, a soft tinkling tune filled the cupboard. Bradshaw sent her a confused look and Alex shrugged, shaking her head. He looked down at his pocket.

"Oh," he rummaged around in the deep pockets of the overcoat he was wearing and retrieved a vibrating old Nokia phone. He pressed a button and held it to his ear, face somehow even more pale than before. "I... Listen..."

Alex frowned at the abrupt stop and watched as Bradshaw sent furtive looks between the her and the door. The voice on the other end of the line was too quiet for her to hear. He swallowed and slowly handed her the mobile. Alex took it hesitantly and listened, keeping it a small distance from her ear.

"Hello?"

When the voice spoke, it was dull and mechanical, obviously a machine,_"Hey, Allie. How you doing?"_

Alex groaned, "Really? You again? Should've guessed."

_"Glad to hear from me?"_

"Not particularly. I know it's you, Moran, so just cut the crap and speak to me in your own voice."

_"Nah, I'm enjoying speaking like this. Makes it more authentic. And you can try to sound a little more scared if it's not too much trouble."_

"What are you talking about?"

_"Bradshaw's hardly going to fall for it if you sound like you're talking to the postman."_

"I don't know what you're going on about."

A crackle filled the line, which Alex presumed to be a sigh, _"Look, I'm having my fun, okay? Boss is away, Sebby's in control. Bradshaw's harmless, you know he is."_

"Wouldn't bet on that," Alex said, eyeing the knife.

_"Well he is. He's doing everything I tell him to do. Jim said not to take any clients but once I saw this one I just couldn't resist. I mean, this is class-A entertainment. A psycho with a thirst for your family's blood, how brilliant!"_

"You work with one, if I remember correctly. Can you just tell me what your point is?"

_"Okay, here we go. You're going to let him walk out of here. You're not going to shoot him or anything like that, or I'll shoot whoever pulls the trigger, then go to their house and shoot their family, children's teachers, children's friends, family friends, children of family friends, friends of family friends, family of friends of family friends - you think I can keep going?"_

Alex leant her head back against the wall, "Right."

_"Good. And then next, the funeral."_

She glanced at Bradshaw, who was looking at her intently, "Yeah, that's an issue."

_"I'm sure you can resolve it. Quite looking forward to it, actually. After that I think the novelty will have worn off by then and you can have him. In the place where it all started, isn't that the cliché?"_

"Can't we just skip a few steps?"

_"Oh come on, don't be a spoil sport. All you have to do is wear a pretty little black dress and turn up with John Watson and sit in an empty church. Say it was a cremation or something. You don't have to actually bury him."_

"You think that'll work?" _You think he'll fall for it, _that translated to.

_"The dumb bastard takes everything I say as gospel. With me on your side, this'll be the easiest case you've ever taken."_

"You just want to see me in a dress," Alex muttered.

_"Send some pictures to your old dad."_

Alex clenched her jaw, biting her tongue. She couldn't believe what she was doing. Was she supposed to do this? What would her uncles want her to do? Would this plan work? Was she just playing right into their hands? She had to make her decision now, Bradshaw was beginning to shuffle uncomfortably. He was getting more and more suspicious.

_"I'm waiting..."_

She knew Moran was more than capable of fulfilling his threat of mass murder. That was how he got his kicks, by taking people's lives and watching them writhe and die. That was the type of sadistic maniac he was.

"And you promise you'll keep your end."

_"I always keep my promises."_

Alex highly doubted that. Moran had no moral compass whatsoever. Promises were meaningless but she was fast running out of things to say.

"Fine."

She could picture his smile as he said, _"There's a good girl. Now text your uncle and tell him not to have his men shoot my client. Right now, while I'm on the phone with you."_

Alex took out her mobile and sent a text to Mycroft, with slightly trembling fingers. Was she doing the right thing?!

**Let Bradshaw go. I'll explain later. Trust me - AH x**

"Done," Alex said monotonously.

_"Excellent. I hope Sherlock is enjoying his death. See you soon, Allie!"_

Alex ended the call and lowered the phone. She then handed it back to Bradshaw, who snatched it back with wild eyes.

"What was that about?" he demanded.

"Your employer is ensuring your safety," Alex said. "Go out the back way and continue down the alley. No doubt he'll have a car waiting for you."

"Why let me go?"

"Because you're handing yourself in. He agrees. After the funeral, you're going back to Havenport. No one has to die today."

"You promise?" he asked.

Alex stared at him. He looked so much like a little boy, despite the blotchy patches of stubble and aged skin. His eyes. They were so wide and desperate. He held out his little finger. Alex entwined it with her own.

"I promise. No one's going to hurt you," she said, beginning to see the real Bradshaw. "You need help, not a bullet. Go."

He opened the cupboard door hesitantly and Alex have him an encouraging push. He turned to her, now out in the open and took her hand.

"I'm so sorry for what I've done to you. Everything. I know your uncle was like a father."

Alex nodded, not bothering to put too much effort into looking upset. If what Moran said was true, Bradshaw would just blindly follow the plan. Like a child.

"Go."

He wiped his running nose on the back of his hand and proceeded to the door, stopping in the doorway. It took him another few minutes to gather up the courage to step out, and when he did, Alex held her breath for a fraction of a second. No bullet came. Her uncle had listened to her.

He looked back at her one last time before taking off down the alley at a sort of lopsided run. Alex stepped back into the house and took out her phone again, texting Anthea.

The woman was outside in seconds.

As soon as she had gotten back to the house, they had ordered her to relay everything that had happened in the cupboard. Sherlock looked particularly alarmed at the fact that Moran had spoken to her.

"So he knows I'm alive," Sherlock said. "He knows everything we do, he's just toying with him."

"Bradshaw is very, very unstable. It isn't his fault what he's doing."

Sherlock frowned at her, "That wasn't the approach you were taking earlier."

"I hadn't met him before that. I had no right to say anything about him," she admitted. "Being in that room with him, in that small space, you could see how terrified he was. Moran's playing him like a violin."

"Waiting for his strings to snap," Sherlock added.

"Which will, apparently, be after the funeral," Alex groaned. "Which is another matter entirely. Why would he want us to do that? He knows you're alive and he doesn't want a big spectacle. He even said to me, just sit in an empty church."

"It's about asserting his power," Mycroft said, speaking for the first time since she had come back. "Sebastian Moran is a henchman, not the face of the operation. He has never been above Jim Moriarty, but now he has been given temporary status. Gloating to Moriarty about making you dress a certain way, go a certain place, act a certain emotion, it gives him a different kind of power than he's used to."

Alex still looked confused and Sherlock elaborated further, "Moran is used to the power behind pulling a trigger. Physical power. That is his speciality. This is a psychological power, much more Moriarty's style."

"Yeah, I know," Alex thought back to the times she heard him in her head after the funhouse. "No one does psychological torture quite like Moriarty."

"This isn't torture. This is Moran's version of fun. Like a giving a dog a poisoned steak and watching it kill itself."

"And in this instance, the dog is Bradshaw," Mycroft finished.

Alex fell back into the sofa, closing her eyes, "So... we have a funeral to plan."

Sherlock sat next to her, "We do indeed."

"Two more days and this insanity will be over."

"For now," Sherlock mumbled.

He probably thought she didn't hear him, but she had.

**HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, FlewandFlied, POTC misty potter temple, emilybrock101, RainbowSilenced, Hanna, and Isobel for reviewing!**

**Thanks so much, replies have already been sent to you.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	105. A Father's Love - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Urgh, I worked ****_so _****hard on this chapter, it was so difficult to write. It's longer than usual too. This is the last chapter in the A Father's Love case and chapter 107 shall be the beginning of Reichenbach Fall. Be prepared for a familiar face...**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Sherlock sat next to her, "We do indeed."_

_"Two more days and this insanity will be over."_

_"I wouldn't count on that," Sherlock mumbled._

_He probably thought she didn't hear him, but she had. _

She didn't quite remember that day. Just snapshots. She remembered waking up to the sun blaring through her window. Not a warm, happy sun, just bright and sharp and blinding. She had hoped it would rain. Be dark. But it wasn't and there was nothing she could do about it.

A black dress had been hung up on the handle of the wardrobe. She had glared at it and tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. It seemed like she blinked and she was stood in front of her mirror with the dress on, reaching down to her knees. Her face was blank.

Then she blinked again. She was stood by Sherlock in front of a pair of big black gates. He looked down at her and seemed like he was trying to give her a smile; he didn't quite manage. She wanted more than anything for him to pick her up and take her home.

Then she blinked again. She was sat in the front pew. A vicar was stood at his dais, speaking in sympathetic tones. He was saying something about her mother, she knew. She could only see his mouth moving. Her gaze fell to the prayer book in her hand. Words she had never seen before. She didn't want to look at them anyway.

Then she blinked again. Her vision was blurry this time. Something was black was moving into something green and brown. The black began to disappear. The sympathetic vicar was saying something unintelligible again. People were turning away. The sun was still beating down. He moved, revealing a grey slab stood upright, rooted in the earth. It had a name written on, but Alex turned away before her sight cleared enough for her to read it. She didn't need to. And she didn't want to.

This time, when she blinked, a year had passed. She was lying on a sofa. Something mind-numbing was on the television. She didn't want to watch it. She didn't want anything apart from silence and darkness.

When she blinked again, soft eyes were boring into hers. John's.

"Alex?"

She swallowed, drawing out of her memories and focussing on the present.

"Sorry, just thinking."

"Remember this isn't real. Sherlock isn't actually dead."

His voice echoed around the empty church, bouncing off the stained glass windows. Alex looked up at the empty dais and vacant pews, avoiding his gaze.

"I know. Just remembering the last time I was here. I stood outside when it was Laura Mauston's funeral, I didn't actually sit in on the service. Our family has never been overly religious so we never came here for Christmases or anything. School visits were to another church."

"So last time you were here was your mum's funeral?" John asked.

"Right in this seat," she said with a bittersweet smile. "It was really sunny and I remembering I hated it. I wanted it to rain and thunder, just because it seemed like it should be. To see everything so normal and bright and happy on a day like that just didn't sit right with six year old me."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Alex said with a shrug. "Everyone has to do it, don't they? Everyone has to bury someone they love. It's just what happens."

"Not as young as you."

"There have been younger."

John nodded, "There's always someone worse off than you in the world."

"And I really feel sorry for _them_," Alex said with a light laugh.

"We do seem to draw the short straw often enough," John agreed, smiling.

Alex fiddled with the hem of her dress, glancing over to check John's watch.

"Ten more minutes," he said, catching her eye again. "Then Moran will tell Bradshaw to hand himself in. By tonight, we'll be back home."

"And Sherlock won't be dead," Alex added. "Which is always a good thing."

John made a face, "Well…"

Alex laughed, nudging him with her elbow. He chuckled too.

"I'm joking," he said. "Just wish some of his cases weren't like this."

"I know. Believe me, you're not the only one. This case isn't exactly black or white either, which doesn't help."

"What do you mean?"

"Bradshaw, he's… very, very unstable. Not the kind of unstable the guy behind the puppet murders was, sort of childish, frightened. Being around him just made me feel so sad because I know he didn't want to hurt those girls at all, he wanted to love them. He just got confused and scared. That's all he is now. Moran is just goading him for his own amusement, and we have no option but to go along with his plan," Alex shook her head in disgust, partly aimed at Moran and partly at herself. "And we all know how this most probably is going to end."

"Someone getting hurt."

"Bradshaw getting hurt," Alex corrected. "After this, he's going to be at the warehouse he kept the girls in, where we'll be waiting. By 'we', that's you, me, Sherlock, and half of Scotland Yard. The other half of which will probably turn up anyway. Any attempt Bradshaw will make to hurt anyone will get him killed instantly. Even if he doesn't try, they could shoot anyway."

"But they can only kill him if he is going to kill someone else," he stopped himself. "Oh. I get it."

"Oh yeah."

"This will be a good catch," he said with a strain of resignation to his voice. "Child murderer escaped from prison, New Scotland Yard are the ones to catch him."

"So many people want him dead, the families of the girls are just a small fraction. They'll be commending the police for once for killing someone. Then there's no chance this can happen again. It's happened before, I remember. Bradshaw just needs help, away from Moran and the media and the police, back in Havenport."

"That's where he'll be by the end of the day."

Alex glanced again at John's watch, "Two minutes."

"You ready to go?"

Alex nodded and stood, stretching, "They didn't think about comfort when they made these pews, did they."

"Definitely not," John said, he too standing and leading the way to the doors.

They paused in front of them and Alex hesitated.

"You know why Moran didn't want Sherlock 'buried'?"

John shook his head.

"Because of Mum. Who she was to Moriarty. I heard Mycroft and Sherlock talking about it. They said if Moran made me watch Sherlock buried next to my mother, Moriarty would be furious."

"Why?"

"They said Moriarty wouldn't want Moran interfering with anything to do with my mum. He still sees her as his and if Moran did something that would even subtly hint to her without Moriarty being there and being the orchestrator, he'd… you know. Do something Moriarty-esque. My mum is off limits. I think he's pushed his boundaries enough by doing this."

"That makes sense," John said. "I would have thought he would have made you suffer as much as possible. Having a big service, having a headstone, coffin, the works."

"He just knows Moriarty has the power to do whatever he does to me, but multiplied by a hundred."

John reached for the door handle and pushed down. As soon as it opened a fraction, they heard excited chatter and raised voices.

"What the hell…" John opened the church door fully and a barrage of reporters stood outside, snapping shots of the two of them.

"Is it true Sherlock Holmes is dead?"

"Is it true he was poisoned?"

"When was the funeral?"

"Are you here to pray for him?"

"How do you feel about the passing of your friend and uncle?"

"What exactly happened?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"Are you going to carry on with his cases?"

"John Watson! John! Mr Watson!"

"Alex Holmes!"

Alex's mouth opened and shut several times, eyes wide and startled, "Um… uh…"

John put a hand on her shoulder and tried to manoeuvre through the crowd, aiming to get to the black car that stood parked on the curb. A particularly eager reporter clung to Alex's arm.

"Alex Holmes, I'm Kitty R–"

"I'm sorry, I can't talk to you right now."

"Is it true your uncle is dead?" she persisted.

Alex managed to shrug off her hand, "Please, we just need time, uh, alone at the moment."

"We were told from an anonymous source that Sherlock Holmes was dead."

_Moran_, Alex thought bitterly. _I absolutely hate you._

They had managed to make it to the car and in the process of opening the door, Alex accidently hit the reporter in the face. Mortified, Alex began to profusely apologise, but realised that if she soon didn't get in the car, she'd be pulled away.

John began to drive the moment her door shut. They drove for a few minutes in stunned silence.

"Well, Moran never fails to surprise, does he?" John said.

"I wonder if Moriarty approves of his move," Alex said, a little shakily. "Oh God, I'm getting condolences messages."

Sure enough, on every social media platform known to man, messages were pinging and lighting up her phone, most from complete strangers, and most asking if it was really true.

**Rest in Peace, Sherlock Holmes.**

**So sorry for your loss!**

**He and your mother are in a better place now.**

That one got her. She had to turn off the phone and stuff it in her bag, fighting back the urge to cry. She could feel John glancing at her from the corner of his eye while he drove.

"You alright?"

"Just get back to Mycroft's quickly," Alex said, resting her head against the car window.

It took another ten minutes – ten minutes too long – to arrive back at Mycroft's, and as soon as they pulled up, Anthea walked out to meet them, her face drawn with stress.

"What on earth happened? Social media has just exploded!"

"Moran," John said as they climbed out. "He gave them an anonymous tip, probably pretended to be the doctor treating Sherlock or something."

"Is the plan still going ahead though?" Alex asked anxiously.

Anthea nodded, "Moran contacted your uncles while you were out. We have to wait until he messages us before we move."

"Still asserting his power then," John muttered. "It's like he's a playground bully and the leader of the gang is on holiday."

Anthea nodded in agreement.

"Where's Sherlock?" Alex asked.

Anthea turned to her, giving her a knowing, sympathetic smile, "Up in his room."

"I'll see you two later."

Alex didn't wait for a reply and practically ran into the house and up the stairs, counting the doors until she got to the one Sherlock was residing in. She didn't knock and wasn't surprised when Sherlock didn't even acknowledge her abrupt entrance. He had been expecting her.

"You've seen the media?"

"They ambushed us," Alex said, walking over to where he was stood by the window. "Just as we were coming out the church. Moran must have told them there was a lot in the story, there were so many of them. I'm getting hundreds of messages from people I don't even know, too. One of them said you were with Mum in a 'better place'."

That made Sherlock look at her, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, it's Moran's. You couldn't exactly be there either, that would rather defeat the point."

"_You _didn't have to be there."

"We have to follow Moran's instructions exactly if we want Bradshaw alive."

"And why do we want that again?"

Alex shot him a withering look, "I'm not even going to answer that."

Sherlock held out his hand, "Phone."

"What?"

"Give me your phone."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

Confused, Alex reached in her bag and retrieved the phone, slowly putting it in Sherlock's outstretched hand. His fingers curled around it and he put it in the top drawer of the desk beside him.

"Any particular reason for that or are you just feeling particularly technophobic today?" Alex asked.

"The second you go back to your room, you'll turn your phone back on and start reading condolence messages that will only mess with your head and I need you to remain as emotionally detached and focussed as possible until Bradshaw is away. So I've also taken your laptop."

"Not sure whether to be angry or grateful."

"I'd prefer the latter if you're asking me to choose," Sherlock said.

Alex smiled, walking to stand closer to him and look out of the window, "I sat where I sat when it was Mum's funeral."

"Why would you do that?"

Alex shrugged, expressionless, "Sentiment. Tradition."

"But I'm not dead, it's hardly tradition."

"I know that but when I was sat there, next to John… if I ignored the fact that there was no one else there and just closed my eyes, it could have so easily been ten years ago. It just made me think now how easy it could be you instead of Mum."

"What's your point?"

"I don't know," Alex admitted, looking up at him. "I just think… just… don't die."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

Sherlock finally smiled, "You can at least try to be realistic."

"Well I want to die first."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"This conversation turned exceptionally morbid," Sherlock said.

Alex laughed and turned to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He grimaced and put one hand to her back.

"I love you," she said.

"I tolerate you."

She giggled and hugged him tighter. She was about to give him a smart reply when his phone buzzed on top of the cabinet. Alex slowly let go and turned to look at the message that had flashed up on her uncle's screen.

**See you there – SM **

Sherlock pressed the home button and it went black again, hiding the message. Alex looked up at him again, worry creasing her forehead. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"You can stay here," he said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

"No, I talked to Bradshaw. He trusts me even if it is just a little bit."

"I'll tell you exactly what happens as it happens," he said. "I'll call you. You can just stay here with Mycroft and annoy the hell out of him until this is finished, as per usual."

"Are you suggesting or pleading?"

"Please, Alex. Think about this. We need to leave now if you are coming."

"I am," she said firmly.

He lingered for a moment, then with his hand still on her shoulder, walked out of the room with her, only letting it fall back to his side when she climbed into the car.

* * *

><p>His breath was short. From the moment he had been pushed into the back of the SUV, he had looked through the tinted windows and watched the streetlights sweep past, and cringed at the familiar houses. Familiar bends. Familiar potholes. That was when his chest had constricted until it felt like his heart was a full balloon being squeezed in the fist of an eager child.<p>

Now he stood there, looking. His knees were bleeding from where he had fallen when he had been pushed out by the 'men who want to help'. He didn't feel the pain. Emotional pain completely crushed physical pain.

Looking up at the dark warehouse, he could remember the first time he had brought the girls there. He was holding Terri's hand, watching Abigail eagerly run to the door, plaits bouncing after her. Her black shiny pirate boots crunching on the gravel.

_"Go on then, darling," _he had said gently.

She gave him a beaming smile and tried to open the door herself, but found it too heavy. He chuckled to himself and caught up to her and opened it up. It was dark inside and he heard Terri whimper.

_"Hey, come on, don't be scared of the dark," _he crooned, picking her up and balancing her on his hip. _"Put your hand on the wall here."_

He guided her hand to the switch and helped her pull it down. Light flooded the large space, illuminating the mountain of toys and teddies surrounding four beds. Abigail gasped and ran to the swing set, Terri wriggling to be down after her sister, eyes wide and disbelieving.

_"There you go," _he put her down. _"Go and play."_

They had been so happy. He had laid back in his chair, watching them laugh. Then he'd put them to bed, reading them a story and pausing to explain words they didn't understand. He'd stroke their hair until they fell asleep, then rock in his chair, watching them. His daughters. His babies.

His third baby had came along and fitted so perfectly into their little family. His third baby with her beautiful nails and beautiful laugh to match. Terri had introduced her to dancing and the pair used to waltz around the beds, he paired with Abigail, who'd giggle madly when he'd spin her around. They all looked after each other, Penelope painting her sisters' nails, Terri styling their hair, and Abigail being elected chief story-teller, each story consisting of a pirate girl saving a boy from the jaws of death. But they'd always want him to read to them before they went to sleep, and have warm milk, and stroke their hair until they fall asleep.

That last night when he had brought a fourth bed home, was the last night of bliss. He didn't blame Suzie, though. She was still his little girl, no matter how long they had known each other. He loved her just as much as he loved his precious twins and beloved Penelope. He loved her so much he just wanted to keep her safe and healthy. He knew it was a risk. But if she did get sick, there would be no chance they could remain a secret. A quick visit to a rural clinic under a false name, a quick vaccination, and he could take her home to her sisters.

He just wanted them to be together. He couldn't subject them to what he went through, being tossed from family to family, void of love and void of warm milk and stories. He had done it like he had done everything, with love, compassion, and a hug.

Joshua Bradshaw didn't realise that he had somehow gotten into the warehouse while his mind had strayed to the past. He fiddled with the light – the circuit of which he had fixed back in his engineering days – and flipped it up.

He saw the mountain of toys. He saw the four beds. And in them, his four babies smiled at him.

* * *

><p>Alex watched him with a frown. She was stood in the shadows, and he was staring at the light just in front of her. She knew he could see her but he looked like he was about to cry. He stumbled forwards, falling to his knees. Now he began to sob, curling in on himself. She had been told to stay out of sight until Sherlock – at the opposite side of the warehouse – made the first move. Seeing Bradshaw so distraught, Alex couldn't help but step out of the darkness.<p>

"Bradshaw?"

His head snapped up, shock written across his features.

"Can you see them?" he asked in barely a whisper.

"See who?"

His eyes shifted just to the left of her, a teary smile forming, "Them. My girls. Aren't they beautiful?"

Alex took another step towards him, kneeling beside him. She hesitantly put a hand on his arm.

"That's where their beds were, wasn't it?"

He nodded, "That's where they _are, _can't you see them?"

Alex followed his gaze and grimaced at the empty space she saw. She rubbed his arm, "They're beautiful."

His smile slowly fell, eyebrows arching, "But they're not really there, are they?"

She shook her head.

"They're dead," he continued.

She shook her head again, "Just sleeping. Right?"

He tore his eyes away from the apparition of his daughters and looked at Alex, "Just sleeping."

"You're going to come with me now, yes?"

He was about to speak when his phone buzzed. He reached for his pocket and Alex felt a horrible feeling curdle in her stomach.

"Bradshaw, don't answer that."

But he was already taking it out, flipping up the lid. Alex leant over to see the screen.

**Number: Blocked**

**Message: She lies.**

"What…?" Bradshaw murmured.

"It's nothing," Alex said, licking her lips. "Ignore it."

Another came through.

**You were right.**

"I was right," Bradshaw repeated. "But I… oh, God…"

Alex's hand slipped off him as she began to back away, "Bradshaw, it doesn't mean–"

"You lied," he said softly, and Alex shivered. "I was right. He says so. I was right. You lied."

"I didn't, I swear."

"He tells me the truth, he helps me…" Bradshaw began to rise, uncurling from his ball. "You lied to me about him didn't you?"

"Joshua–"

"He isn't dead, is he," he stated.

He took a step towards Alex, and she took a compensatory one back. She knew she should be speaking, convincing him otherwise and calming him down, but she had no idea what to say. She hadn't missed the shine of a gun in the waistband of his jeans. She shook her head as he reached for it.

"He isn't dead, IS HE!" Bradshaw shouted hysterically, drawing the weapon.

"I–"

"No," Sherlock's voice cut through the air and Alex's heart began to thud wildly.

"Sherlock, he's armed."

Bradshaw didn't turn to look at him, it was as if he was frozen. He stared at Alex, eyes wider than she thought possible, lips trembling. His laboured breath sent a strand of hair that had fallen over his face rising and falling over his lips. His fingers shook around the gun.

"Bradshaw, the police are outside. I managed to convince them to let us talk alone but if they hear shots, they'll shoot you immediately. If they even _see_ you with a gun, they will shoot you immediately," Sherlock took a cautious step towards them. "You know that. Just give me it"

Bradshaw, still with his eyes fixed on Alex, shook his head.

"Come on, mate," John said, revealing himself from the side of the warehouse, where he had been hidden behind a pillar. "No one needs to be hurt."

"I can't, I need to," Bradshaw said. "For the girls."

"That's what you've convinced yourself," Sherlock said. "You've convinced yourself that by killing my family and I, it will make you less responsible for the death of your own family. It doesn't work like that. You won't feel any less guilty."

"I don't feel guilty."

"That's not true."

Bradshaw's face twisted, eyes filling with tears, still looking at Alex, "It _hurts_."

"I know," Alex said.

"This will make it stop hurting."

"It won't," Sherlock said, taking yet another step towards him. "You've been telling yourself that for so many years, you've begun to believe it, you've invested every second since that night indoctrinating yourself into believing my death will bring you peace. You dreamt about it, didn't you?"

"Every night," Bradshaw whispered.

"Then a man turns up to visit, the first visitor you've ever had. He tells you he can help you do exactly what you feel you need to. He can tell you everything about me, where I live, where I work, what time I'll be where, everything."

"He didn't tell me about you," Bradshaw said, eyes soft on Alex. "He said he wanted me to figure it out myself."

"The man you talked to, his name is Sebastian Moran. No matter what he said to you, he doesn't want to help you."

"He has–"

"No," Sherlock said. "He's been playing you. You've been a toy for him."

"He lied to you, Joshua," Alex said gently. "He told you Sherlock was dead, didn't he? He told you to believe me, even though he knew I was lying."

Bradshaw nodded slowly.

"He gave you ricin, he gave you a gun, he gave you what you needed to regain purpose. But none of it was for you."

"I'm scared," he said, finally turning to Sherlock, voice thick with sobs. "They're going to kill me."

"They won't," Sherlock said. "Not if you give me the gun. As long as you have it, they can bend the truth and say you shot it. Don't give them that opportunity. The police won't shoot an unarmed man."

"I'm not talking about the police," he said in a low voice.

He turned so suddenly that Alex didn't have time to appreciate what was happening before John almost tackled her out of the way. But no bullet landed where she had once stood, Bradshaw stood and pointed the gun, shaking violently. His finger closed around the trigger but couldn't seem to gather enough force to actually push it in.

Alex stood side by side with John, both bent-double and ready to run. But if Bradshaw managed to pull the trigger now, they would have no chance.

"Please, Joshua, don't. You don't want to hurt us. I remind you of the girls, right? And John has a family, a sister. You don't want to take him away from her, do you?"

"It doesn't have to be like this," John added. "You want to kill us all but by the time you fire one shot, the police will shoot you. You won't get to kill the others."

Alex disentangled herself from John and walked slowly with her hands raised over to the other side of the warehouse. The three of them – Sherlock, John, Alex – made a sort of triangle shape now. Bradshaw spun around on his heel, head snapping frantically to each of them.

"Choose which one you want," Sherlock said. "Which one of us do you want to kill, who do you want to have walk away from here?"

Bradshaw made a sort of growling moan and kept switching his gaze to each of them, spinning in a circle.

"You could take your chance and try to shoot us all but in that short space of time before you yourself get killed, added to the fact you have no experience with guns at all, it's highly likely you won't hit any of us," Sherlock continued.

Alex had thought it was just the light, but when Bradshaw turned again, she could see a trail of blood running from his nose. He was having an anxiety attack. She remembered her mother used to get nosebleeds when she had an episode.

"And, you have approximately three minutes before Scotland Yard get antsy and storm in here and see you with that gun," Sherlock finished.

"Three minutes," Bradshaw muttered. "Three… minutes…"

He was spinning madly now, striking the gun at each of them, face twitching and contorting. Finally, he stopped and lowered the gun before slowly raising it again at the face of his chosen one. Of course, Sherlock. Alex shot a glance to John, who looked just as scared as she felt.

His aim was shaking terribly but Sherlock was close enough to be able to shoot with ease. Alex thought he was going to take a step back, but instead, he took a step forward. She shook her head at him pleadingly.

_Please don't do this._

Bradshaw shifted, confused by the move but still aiming the gun at him. More blood ran down his neck.

"You shouldn't have taken those girls," Sherlock said.

"He left the twins alone," Bradshaw said. "They let Penelope walk to the playground in the dark. They didn't even realise Suzie was gone until the school phoned them. I loved them more than they had ever been in their lives."

"They weren't yours to love," Sherlock said, and took another step forwards. "One minute and a half."

Bradshaw put his finger back around the trigger, but again it seemed to jam.

"If it wasn't for you, they'd still be here. We'd be together."

"I know. We misjudged you, but what happened, happened. You can still control what happens now, Joshua," Sherlock took yet another step closer, until they were half an arm's length.

His proximity forced Bradshaw to bend his outstretched arm holding the gun so that it was pressed against Sherlock's chest. Alex's fists were clenched so hard that her knuckles were a ghostly white.

"What are you doing?" Bradshaw whispered.

"Shoot," Sherlock said, bringing up a hand to close around Bradshaw's, brushing against the gun. "Go on, shoot me. This is what you've wanted to do for years. Since you woke up and realised your daughters were dead. Realised _you'd_ killed them. You have to do it quickly, Joshua. You have sixty seconds."

Bradshaw's skin was slick with a mixture of sweat and blood, but gooseflesh stood out on his arms. He squeezed his eyes closed.

"I… I'm going to kill you now," Bradshaw said quietly, not meeting his eye. "Do you... do you want to say something?"

Sherlock glanced over to Alex, who was ashen-faced, and gave her a tiny smile.

"I don't need to," he said, turning back to Bradshaw.

Bradshaw had watched the exchange with another almost undiscernible desperate groan. He shook his head, sweat flying from his hair, and readied himself. Sherlock lifted his head up.

John muttered a soft _no._

Alex remained silent. That last show of rehearsed affection had made an impact on Bradshaw, she could see.

Bradshaw's hand shook more than ever, the gun wobbling dangerously. He closed his eyes and put his finger back on the trigger.

But didn't press it down.

"Oh I _can't!" _Bradshaw screamed. "I _can't."_

He then began to cry, body wracking with each agonized wail. Sherlock gently untangled the gun from his fingers and nodded to Alex.

Immediately, the girl ran to Bradshaw, dropping to her knees and putting her arms around him.

"It's okay, it's going to be okay."

She looked up at Sherlock as he stored Bradshaw's gun in his blazer pocket. John came to kneel on Bradshaw's other side, giving him instructions on how to stop his nose bleeding. The doctor pinched Bradshaw's nose and put a hand to his head, murmuring reassurances.

Seeing that John was calming him enough, Alex let go and stood next to her uncle. He was texting Lestrade to come in alone, not with any of his other officers. Anything to keep Bradshaw as calm as possible.

"That was so dangerous," Alex whispered so as not to let Bradshaw hear.

"Well someone told me they wanted him alive," Sherlock said. "Next time I won't listen."

Alex shook her head at him but smiled. It wasn't a bright smile, but one heavy with gratitude and emotion.

"Thank you."

If he was about to reply – Alex suspected he wasn't – Lestrade cut him off by entering. He had stored his gun in his holster as per Sherlock's instructions and went to kneel beside Bradshaw.

"Are you Joshua Bradshaw?" he asked.

Bradshaw nodded and held out his hands.

Lestrade took out his handcuffs and clipped them around Bradshaw's wrists, while reading him his rights. With the help of John, he managed to get Bradshaw to stand up properly and began to walk to the door.

"Was he armed?" Lestrade asked.

"No," Sherlock said convincingly.

Lestrade gave him a disbelieving look but nodded anyway and led Bradshaw out. The trio followed behind, walking out into the car park that was swarming with police. Some looked vaguely disappointed that it hadn't ended more spectacularly and Alex scowled at them as Lestrade put Bradshaw into the back of a police van.

"You think he'll let me talk to him for a second before they go?" Alex asked.

Sherlock motioned for her to hurry. She took off at a run and went to the back of the van just as Lestrade was shutting the doors. Alex stopped him.

"Thirty seconds," she said with an innocent smile.

He pursed his lips.

"Please."

"Fine, but I'm standing here. You Holmeses are going to get me fired."

Alex nodded and Lestrade opened the doors fully to let her go to the mesh bars that stood between her and Bradshaw. He put his fingers through the holes in the mesh, hands still cuffed.

"It's all going to be okay now," she said. "You'll never hear from Moran ever again. At Havenport, let them help you. Forget about us."

He smiled softly, "I can still see them. I like it. It doesn't hurt as much."

Alex smiled at him, "You'll see them for as long as you want to. Goodbye, Joshua."

Lestrade's phone rang and he excused himself to answer it.

Alex had turned to leave when Bradshaw called back to her.

"You said the man who helped me was Moran."

Alex nodded, "Yes."

"You called him Sebastian."

"That's his name, Sebastian Moran."

"That wasn't who helped me," he said.

"What?" Alex frowned. "Who was it?"

"He introduced himself as _Logan_ Moran."

Alex felt her heart sink, every inch of her freezing, "Wh-what?"

"That's what he–"

"Alex!" Lestrade shouted, jogging over. "There's–"

"Wait," she interrupted, getting closer to Bradshaw, demanding. "What did you just say?"

"Alex!" Lestrade chastised.

"Wait!"

He pulled her shoulder so that she was facing him, forcing her to listen.

"There's been an explosion in the city centre. It looks like it's on the street where Logan used to live. Christine is still there isn't she?"

Sherlock and John were hurrying over now, Sherlock with his phone in his hand.

"I don't… but…" Alex turned back to Bradshaw, who was watching with a drawn brow. "But you said… oh God… Let me see the news."

Lestrade held out his phone where BBC News had a picture of a block of flats in a haze of flames. Police cars were filtering away, the van holding Bradshaw leaving.

"DI Gregson texted me, he arrived at the scene when it happened," he continued. "That is the Baxter house, isn't it?"

"His… his s-s-sisters live there, too," Alex stuttered, stumbling back a little. "He… Are they alive?"

"I don't know," Lestrade said. "I can tell you more once I get there, can I drop you off–"

"Bart's," Alex said, panic evident in her voice. "That's the closest hospital, they'll be taken there. Drop me off there."

"Alex," Sherlock said. "That explosion looks bad. Don't be expecting to find them in a ward."

"Then I'll check in the morgue," Alex said, already running to Lestrade's car. "Sherlock, don't come with me."

"What?"

"Please, if they're dead," Alex had to stop herself. "You need to sort this out. S-sort Moran out or something. Please. This is… this isn't… oh God, just don't follow me."

"I can call Logan," he offered.

"No!" Alex wheeled around, eyes wild. "Don't call him. I swear, if you do…"

"Okay," he held up his hands. "Text me, okay?"

She nodded distantly and climbed in the passenger seat of Lestrade's car as the detective inspector closed his door. The second they began to drive Alex took out her phone and called Anthea.

_"Alex," _her tone was soft and pitying.

"No, stop," Alex snapped. "I need you to get me Logan's number."

_"He uses top-up phones which he replaces often so he doesn't get tracked."_

"Then his home number, give me something!"

_"Alex."_

"Anthea, you have to do this," Alex barely held herself together.

_"… Okay."_

A few moments later, a number flashed on Alex's screen and she immediately called it. It rang off. Alex swore and tried again. No answer. He wasn't home. She tried again and again and again until she lost count.

"What's going on, Alex?" Lestrade demanded, finally pulling up at St Bart's.

She didn't answer as she opened the door and sprinted across to the building. She went through the visitor's waiting area and pushed to the front of the desk.

"Christine Baxter," Alex said urgently to the woman, who gave her an affronted look. "Trauma injuries, um, burns. Brought in in the last half an hour. Might be with her daughters."

"We're getting a whole horde of people injured from an explo–"

"That's it! Where…?" Alex trailed off as she heard a loud bang. Several people jumped and chuntered, looking at the double doors leading out of the waiting room and into the actual hospital. Someone had ran through in a hurry without checking in.

"Miss?"

Alex pushed off from the desk, taking the doors at a run and sending them crashing into the wall. She rounded the corner, pleading silently that she was mistaken when she stopped dead.

He was stood there, in full view of every camera in the corridor, looking just the same as he had done when he left.

"You can't be here," Alex whispered. "They'll find you."

He didn't respond for a moment, but then Logan Baxter turned to look at her, tear tracks down his cheeks.

"They already have."

* * *

><p><strong>Did you see that coming? Three guesses as to what chapter 106 is to be about. Remember 107 is the beginning of Reichenbach. Just two weeks before I rip my own heart out and stamp on it! Yey!<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: Isobel, shnuffeluv, RainbowSilenced, emilybrock101, POTC misty potter temple, TheCurlyGal6218, Hanna, and Courtney-Tamara for reviewing!**

**Replies shall be sent to you in the morning (or as I wake up during the night) because guess who just faceplanted the screen. I'm running on coffee and it's wearing off.**

**Thanks so much you guys!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X **


	106. Goodbye, Mrs Baxter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, school has been dragging me down. BUT to make up for it, here is a MONSTER of a chapter, the longest one! I hope you enjoy it, Reichenbach is up next...**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_He was stood there, in full view of every camera in the corridor, looking just the same as he had done when he left. _

_"You can't be here," Alex whispered. "They'll find you."_

_He didn't respond for a moment, but then Logan Baxter turned to look at her, tear tracks down his cheeks._

_"They already have."_

_Alex stared back at him, disbelief written across her face, "How did you get here so fast? How did you know?"_

"He told me," Logan said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He told me what he was going to do."

"_He_ did this?" Alex asked, taking an involuntary step backwards. "Moriarty did this?"

"And Sebastian," Logan said. "Th-they both did. Because of me. It's my fault."

"What are you talking about?" Alex asked, now hurrying over to him and touching his arm. "This… You... What happened?"

"They took me on my w-way home from work. Made me read from a script, pretending to be my father. I talked to y-you. Bradshaw. I thought I was done, I was going to tell you. But they wanted me to do something else but I said no and now this…" his voice shook with each tremble of his body.

Alex shook her head at him, forehead creased with concern, "Which room are they in?"

"Mum's in Twenty. I haven't been able to look in yet."

They were stood outside nineteen. A few more steps and they'd be there. Logan's eyes kept drifting to the door, open ajar. Only white walls and blinds closed over a window could be seen.

"It's a private room," he said, voice cracking. "Intensive Care Unit. Only means one thing, doesn't it?"

"Don't," Alex said firmly. "Stay positive."

"I can't."

"You can."

"You go first," he whispered. "I don't want to see if she's..."

"Okay," Alex said softly. "Okay, I'll look. She might be completely fine."

He walked with her to the door and he paused outside as she pushed it open. It opened smoothly and silently, the silence giving way to a gentle beeping sound once inside the room.

"Alex?"

She didn't reply for a moment.

Christine Baxter had always been a force to be reckoned with. All throughout Alex's childhood she had been firm and rough, but loving beneath the thick leathery skin she wore. Now, that skin was torn and ripped, plastered with bandages and bands and steri-strips, but definitely not as many as they should have been. A large cut across her forehead laid untouched. The bleeding had stopped and the skin around it cleaned, but it just stayed there, open to the air. That was definitely not a good sign. Nor was the fact that that moment was the only time Alex had seen the woman so pale. She had always worn heavy makeup, what little skin that wasn't covered in cosmetics weathered into a tan. She didn't even look like the same person now as she laid unconscious in the bed.

"Alex?" Logan's voice was getting increasingly more desperate.

"I don't think you should come in, Logan," Alex managed to get out.

"What? Why...?"

He was opening the door and Alex caught it, keeping it in place and keeping Logan out. His face fell.

"No."

"She's alive," Alex said._ But I don't know how long for._

"Let me see," he whispered.

Alex pressed her lips together and glanced back at Christine, "I don't think that's a great idea."

"But she's alive," Logan countered. "You've just said."

Alex conveyed what she couldn't say in just one look. Logan had to turn away for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, shuddering breath. Alex watched him, her own gut churning for him.

He turned back, face firm again – or as firm as it could be under the circumstances – and said, "I'm ready."

Alex nodded and stepped back, letting go of the door. Logan pushed it open fully and stopped stock-still, staring at his mother. Alex put a hand on his arm. His eyes were the only part of his face that showed any emotion - they were swimming in it. He took a tentative step forward towards the bed.

"Wh-why is she not being treated?" Logan asked so quietly that Alex almost missed it. "Her head. Wh-where are the doctors?"

"So many people were injured, the media said close to two hundred have been at least injured and this is the closest hospital so they've bore the brunt. I could go and find someone, if you'd like me to," she said.

"Yes."

Alex hesitated, "Are you okay to be on your own?"

"Yes."

Alex winced at what she was about to say but said it anyway, "Stay away from the window."

He cast her a glance that didn't have an ounce of warm in it, "What good will that do now? They know where I am."

Alex turned away, cursing herself for being so insensitive, "I just meant... never mind. I'll be back in a minute."

She ducked out into the corridor and had to search in the A&E wing for a doctor. She managed to collar one, who just looked grateful to stop. She looked exhausted.

"There's a woman in Ward 20, Christine Baxter–" Alex began.

"Oh yes, she was my first tonight. Me and a colleague treated her."

"Not very well," Alex said. "There's a cut on her head and she's just on her own in that room. Her son's there now but she needs help."

The doctor gave her a pitying grimace, "I'm sorry. There's just nothing we can do for her. Her internal injuries are too severe, not to mention the fact that her spine is broken in several places. We have to be objective in a crisis like this. We're understaffed as it is. We need to treat the ones who stand a chance at recovering, not prolonging lives that are already too far gone."

"Too far gone? You mean she's not... I mean." Alex stammered. "She's not going to wake up… How long?"

"Not long."

"But how long is 'not long'?" Alex asked impatiently. "I don't have time for this, be blunt."

The doctor seemed done with talking to her in that tone and shifted her weight to one hip, "Put it this way, we have a patient lined up to be in that bed in the next hour or so. Excuse me, I have thirty people I'm meant to be saving tonight."

Alex licked her lips and put a hand to her head. How was she meant to tell Logan? He was going to lose his family. He hadn't even mentioned his sisters.

Back at the hospital room, Alex hovered in the doorway. Logan had moved so that he was sat in one of the visitor's chairs. His hand was resting on the bed, just beside Christine's, but not touching. Alex knocked lightly and he quickly withdrew his hand and let it rest on his lap.

"What did they say?"

_Keep eye-contact. Sympathetic, not pitying. Soft tone, _she repeated in her mind as she said, "I'm so sorry, Logan. She isn't going to make it."

Logan couldn't seem to look at Alex, he just kept staring at his mother. But not touching her. He nodded.

"Okay."

Alex frowned, that hadn't been the reaction she was expecting.

"Are we talking days, weeks?" he asked.

Alex steeled herself before replying, "Less. She's running out of time."

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, which was subtly covered by indifference. He put his hand on the bed again, and Alex came to sit on the other side.

"I know you don't want to be talking about this. I need you to tell me what happened."

He lifted his head, glaring at her, "Don't you think I have more important things to worry about?"

"He knows where you are," Alex continued. "It might be you yourself that he targets next time."

"It's not."

"How do you know?"

"Because I do, okay?!" Logan yelled, glowering at her like he had never done before.

In that moment, Alex couldn't see him. She could only see his father. That made the words on her lips die and she recoiled, putting a little more space between the two of them. Then she felt ashamed of herself. She couldn't blame him. If that was one of her family members laid there, she would be inconsolable. But he just seemed empty. Like every drop of emotion had been drained from him. Even his eyes had dulled. He was a completely different person. And in that moment of anger, he was Sebastian Moran through and through.

Now, his face had softened and his mouth closed, no longer looking at Alex. That vein of Moran running through him had been buried again.

Christine's heart monitor let out a beep longer than the others, then resumed again.

Logan's lips pursed.

It did it again.

"Can," he cleared his throat. "Can you find out where my sisters are? They were... just hanging on when I saw them. I don't how - whether they... Please."

Alex glanced at Christine.

"Are you sure?"

His mouth moved in the shape of a 'yes' but no sound came out.

"I don't want you to be on your own when…" She didn't need to finish.

"I want to be alone," he said through gritted teeth, still not looking at her.

Alex stood up and tentatively walked over to Logan. She debated putting a hand on his shoulder. She decided against it.

Logan blinked rapidly for a moment, then looked up at Alex.

"What?" he asked, snappish.

"I know you don't really mean that."

Logan gritted his teeth, "Alex, stop psychoanalysing me. _Wrongly _psychoanalysing. I don't need you here right now, I need you to make sure my sisters aren't dead yet."

Caught off guard slightly by his harshness, Alex raised her hands and backed away. It wasn't done in retaliation but in resignation. Understanding.

"I'll be back soon, Lo'."

The nickname rolled off her tongue easily. She only ever called him that when he was upset when they were little. Before any of this mess had happened. It made her throat constrict and she was glad she was out of Logan's eyeshot when she felt her own eyes mist.

She made her way back to reception and asked for the Baxter sisters. After a description – they hadn't gotten around to names yet – they were found to be dotted around the Urgent Care Unit. The first one Alex went to was Shannon, the eldest, placed in the back of an overcrowded ward.

A nurse nodded to her.

Alex peeked around the the curtain. The most beautiful of the Baxters now reduced to a pitiful, bleeding mess. Half of Shannon's face had been scorched away. Alex couldn't tell how many more injuries laid beneath the thin hospital bed sheet.

Alex pulled the curtain back around the bed and looked to the nurse. He shook his head. Alex nodded solemnly.

Next was the second eldest, Bethany. Overshadowed by her sister's natural beauty, Bethany had developed chronically low self esteem, and had overcompensated by slapping on layers of makeup. Now that makeup was gone, along with her left arm and leg.

The doctor on the scene began a "I'm so sorry.." speech and Alex held up a hand, thanking him quietly.

Third eldest, Chantelle, was already dead by the time Alex tracked her down.

Helen, the youngest, was the only one that was going to make it. She had stepped outside for a smoke when it had happened. Her sisters and mother hadn't stood a chance. She had managed to escape with a few minor abrasions – a more serious leg injury – and a head injury that had rendered her unconscious. The attending doctor said he expected her to wake up in the next day or two given the pain medication she was on.

Alex squeezed Helen's hand, "I'll be back soon. I need to take care of your brother."

But when Alex got back to room twenty, Logan wasn't there. Neither was Christine. A nurse was changing the bedsheets with a pale face and shaking fingers.

Alex checked the room number – though she knew she was right the first time. The movement of the door made the nurse pause to look at her, giving her a forced, tired smile.

"Uh, you're looking for Oskar Bartol? We'll be bringing him through in a moment," the nurse said, continuing tending to the bed.

"No, Christine Baxter. She was here in the last forty minutes."

The nurse stopped, letting the sheet fall out of her hands. She turned to her slowly.

"I'm sorry. She died not long ago."

Alex blinked several times and swallowed before she was able to speak, "Th-there was a boy in here. A little older than me. Only about an hour ago. Christine is… was…" she took a breath. "His mother."

The nurse shook her head with a shrug, "There was no one else in here when I arrived. Sorry."

Alex stared at the bed. The sheets had been expertly pulled over the mattress and folded at the corners, all without a crease. Nothing to suggest, even hint at the possibility that someone had been laid there just minutes earlier. Someone had died there. It just stood there, ready. Just waiting for someone else to lie down to death.

Logan. That was who she needed to concentrate on.

Where would he go? He had just lost everything he had and he knew he couldn't go outside the hospital or he'd be taken again. He had to be somewhere inside the hospital, where he could be alone but still safe.

Then she knew. Alex put her hand to her face and sighed.

It only took five minutes to get there, but the journey across the hospital seemed to drag on and on, each corridor lengthening after every corner, until she got there. The cupboard door - the one they had hidden behind during the lithium case - was shut and no light spread through the crack between it and the floor. But she knew he was in there.

She was about to push down the handle when she paused, and opted for a light knock first. There was no reply. She opened the door, just enough for her to shimmy in, then shut it behind her again. A sickly smell of paint tainted the air. It was completely dark inside and she had to feel around for his hand in the darkness. When she found it, she clasped it tightly. It didn't abate his shaking.

"Lo', I'm so…" she trailed off. They had both been told that so many times in their lives that it had begun to lose meaning. She finally settled on firmly saying, "Anything. Anything you need, I'll give you."

When Logan spoke, he was hoarse, "Answer me a question."

Alex nodded, replying in the affirmative when she realised he couldn't see her in the blackness.

"What I did. Did you forgive me for it?"

He didn't sound pleading, or particularly bothered, for lack of a better word. Just curious. Dully curious.

"Actually, don't answer that," he said, just as Alex was about to do just that. "Talk about something else."

"I told you, anything."

He sniffed and took out his phone, turning on the light. It illuminated the cupboard and Alex winced at how tear-stained and ashen Logan's face was. He avoided her eye, as his own swam in tears. Alex pretended not to see them. It was hard.

"Edinburgh," he said.

"Mmm."

"It's nice. Flat's nice. Job's nice. I'd moved on, finally," he pressed his lips together. "Did you?"

"You mean, moved on, as in, moved on from you?" she asked.

"Do you have someone?"

"No… do you?"

Logan exhaled, dodging her question, "You know my mum never wanted us to be friends."

"Because your mum knew my mum and who I was. I'd figured that out."

"It wasn't just that. Mum didn't care about _you, _just your dad. She didn't want us to be friends because she knew if James found out about the two of us, he would exploit it. Well, I don't need to tell _you_ that of all people."

"I thought you said you didn't want to talk about this."

"I didn't love you," Logan said bluntly.

Alex shut her mouth abruptly. She stared at him.

"What?"

"I thought I did. Even after the funhouse, after I got away," he said in that emotionless, dull voice. "But then, when I got to Scotland, I had space to think. Reflect. I began to understand. I saw how much they controlled me.

I was young when he first found me," Logan picked at his hoodie, speaking with trembling casualness. "Both of them were there. Mum was at the hospital with Chantelle and they picked me up from school, without Mum knowing. I just felt… something around them. They told me I was their friend, that they were going to look after me when Mum couldn't, but she couldn't know because she'd get upset. I was six, I didn't know what I was doing. When they asked about you, I thought they were just taking an interest in my friends. They told me to say certain things, act a certain way. Every time I did, I just got this feeling when they said I'd done a good job. I felt like I had a purpose, like someone, a father, loved me."

A tinge of emotion coloured his voice, and Alex knew she had to speak.

"When you're that age, you'll do anything for approval. Especially father figures, when you don't have one yourself. When I was little, Mycroft once told me to organise the library, probably just to get me out of his hair for a while. I locked myself in that room all day without a break. It was only until later when Mycroft realised I hadn't had lunch or dinner and had started looking for me, that he found me sleeping in the middle of a huge pile of first editions. I suppose I just wanted him to tell me I was…a 'good girl'… does that make me sound really self-centered?"

"Little bit," Logan said with a tiny glimmer of a smile.

Alex laughed lightly, "I suppose it does."

"Then again," Logan said, smile falling. "Who am I to talk?"

"You don't need to do this, Logan. Not now."

"I do," he murmured. "I need to make sure you know everything."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't you want to know?"

"No, I mean why would you want to tell me all of this now?"

"Because I," he paused. "Just listen to me."

Alex was still confused but nodded nonetheless, "I'm listening."

"When we started to grow up, their approach changed. I didn't want any part of it anymore, so they got violent. They told me, _convinced _me that I…" he sighed. "That I…"

"That you loved me," Alex said.

"Yes."

"And you didn't?"

"Did you?"

Alex chewed the side of her mouth in thought. Had she? Had she completely, definitely been in love with him?

"I-I was young."

His hand tightened around hers, "I know. So was I. They made me believe I was something I wasn't, so they had even more control over you. The closer we got, the closer they got to you. The more pleasure they got from hurting us both. Well, hurting me."

Alex stayed silent, not knowing what to say. The subject of what he did to her lit a fire somewhere deep inside her gut, but then she looked up at him, and that fire was promptly distinguished. He needed to speak. He didn't need a reason. Alex knew she just needed to listen.

"I did, still do, love you," he said after a long stretch of silence.

Alex felt a twinge of annoyance, "You just said–"

"You're my sister," he turned to her, tears fresh in his eyes and voice tight. He grabbed her other hand. "You're my family. You're my best friend. And now, you're one of the only people I have left and you have no idea how much I hate myself for hurting you. I am _so _sorry, Alex. Please, forgive me. Please."

"I forgive you," Alex rushed to assure him as his shoulders shook. "Of course I forgive you."

"But I need you to understand," he said intently. "You're not the only one. Helen, I know she's the only one who's going to pull through. I know I never got along with her, but I'm the reason she doesn't have anyone anymore. I have to take care of her."

"Of course you do," Alex said, brow furrowed. "We'll both take care of her. She'll be okay, Logan."

"Yeah… she will be," he glanced down at his watch and closed his eyes momentarily. "She's been gone for almost an hour now."

His hand had dropped from Alex's left – the other still clinging to her right – and she wrapped her free arm around him. Though he was more than a few inches taller than her, his head rested on Alex's shoulder, and she put her cheek against the top of his hair.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled, muffled.

"Logan, don't. Forget about it, it's over-"

"No it isn't. It isn't."

"Yes it is, Logan," Alex moved so she could look him in the eye. "Once you're ready, I'm going to call Mycroft to send someone to pick us up. We'll go back to Baker Street, stay the night. Stay for the week, as long as you need. We'll get you a flat nearby, sell the one in Scotland. You're going to be fine, Logan. I promise. I'm going to take care of you."

Logan shook his head mournfully, "Please don't make me feel any more guilty."

"What do you mean? That's the last thing I want."

He shuffled out of her embrace and rubbed his face, ridding himself of his tear tracks. He sniffed.

"Can you, um, can you call your uncle?" he asked.

"Of course, which one?"

"Sherlock," he said. "Can you call Sherlock to come?"

Alex frowned, "Do you mind me asking why?"

"I don't feel safe leaving on my own. Even with you."

"Mycroft could get someone here faster."

"Sherlock."

Alex nodded, "Okay."

She took out her phone and went to call Sherlock, when she realised she had no signal. She growled and gave Logan an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, I have rubbish signal in here."

"I don't have any either. You need to go to the next floor, that's the closest place I get it," Logan replied.

"Okay," Alex said, standing up. She brushed down her trousers and opened the door. She blinked at the sudden light. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Alex."

She turned back. He was staring at her, regret written all over his face.

"I'm sorry."

Alex shook her head at him, "You don't need to keep apologising."

"I'm sorry," he said anyway.

Alex sighed, "We'll get this sorted. I can't bring them back, but I can make sure you and Helen have everything you need."

Logan looked away from her, bowing his head, and Alex took that as her cue to leave. She walked along the corridor to the foot of the stairs. She climbed up to the next floor and wandered along until she managed to get a signal. She texted Sherlock first, telling him she would call and that he needed to answer. Thankfully, he did.

_"Are you okay? Are you still at the hospital?"_

"I'm okay but Logan isn't. How soon can you get here?"

_"As soon as I can flag a cab."_

"Thank you," Alex said gratefully, and was about to put her phone away when it rang again. Her other uncle's name flashed up. She accepted the call. "Mycroft?"

_"Alex, you need to go back to 221B."_

"What?"

_"I know you just called Sherlock and he's coming. Wait for him in the hospital reception."_

"I can't, I have to stay with Logan. Surely you know what's happened-"

_"Sebastian Moran is in a car waiting just on the other side of the road. Alex, do as I'm telling you."_

Her blood turned to ice, "He's here?"

_"I can see you, Alex," _her eyes darted to the CCTV camera in the corner of the corridor. _"I can see you aren't moving."_

"I need to get Logan, then we'll go with Sherlock, I promise."

_"No, leave him."_

"I'm not leaving him."

_"He's supposed to be in Edinburgh! When he moved away, I thought whatever you felt for him would move with him. He was a childhood companion, Alex. You're no longer a child. You've outgrown each other."_

"Stop it," Alex hissed, not daring to raise her voice in case she woke any sleeping patients. "I'm getting Logan and we'll both wait for Sherlock."

_"... Fine," _his tone screamed otherwise. _"Just don't do anything stupid or reckless."_

"I won't."

She ended the call and stored her phone in her pocket. She took a calming breath to ease her nerves and glanced out of the nearby window. She couldn't see Moran. The thought of him struck fear down her spine and she suddenly felt like she needed to get to Logan. Perhaps a safety-in-numbers instinct. Perhaps something more.

However, in her hurry to get to the floor one down from the one she was on, she slipped on the stairs. It was only three more steps to a flat mid-flight section, so she didn't fall far, but her foot slipped out of her shoe and tumbled a few feet away from her. She swore and gripped her stinging foot. It took a few minutes to abate, and when it did, she limped over to retrieve her shoe. A few more steps and the pain wore off and she could walk properly again. Not sprained.

She looked up the steps to see what it was that had caused her to fall. Suds. Soap suds probably slopped over the side of a bucket belonging to a lousy cleaner. And who said keeping hospitals clean kept people safe?

Alex continued on to the cupboard and knocked, calling through the door, "Sorry I took so long. Slipped on the stairs. Classic me, eh? At least I wouldn't have to go far if I broke my leg... Logan?"

He didn't answer.

She knocked again and pushed open the door. The light was still off, so that didn't do much in terms of seeing. She felt around for the light switch.

"You there? Look, we need to go. There's a bit of a situation but it's being sorted out. We just need to stay," Alex found the switch and flicked it on. "... Together."

The word came out as a whisper.

"Logan?"

Calling his name was stupid, it was obvious he wasn't there. The cupboard was small and square, no nooks or crannies he could have been hunched in. Everything was in plain sight. There was no trace of him. Trying to convince herself he had just gone to stretch his legs, she switched the cupboard light off, and shut the door.

He had probably just gone to see Helen. That's what he had been talking about, wasn't it? Seeing Helen. Taking care of her. Yes. That was it.

Alex half-walked, half-ran to the bed she had been in, in one of the sections of the Urgent Care Unit. But, that bed too was empty.

"What on earth?" Alex muttered.

It seemed every time she turned her back on someone for more than a minute, they disappeared. She double-backed to the desk and asked for the name - they had added it in when Alex had identified her earlier.

"She was moved to a ward to make room for other emergency patients. She should be in twenty-three, just that way," the woman pointed up the corridor and gave her a brief, stressed smile. "Bed right near the window."

Alex thanked her and followed her directions, ending up in the right ward. It was at full capacity, every bed filled with the injured and sick. Seven out of the ten beds had the curtains tucked around them. The bed by the window was one of the seven. Alex hesitated, about to pull the curtain back.

"Helen?" she asked timidly. "Are you awake?"

She wasn't surprised not to hear Helen's deep voice tell her to leave her to sleep a little longer. The doctor had said she wouldn't wake up for at least another day.

"Helen? Helen, it's Alex..."

"Will you shut up?" an irritated voice demanded from behind her.

Alex turned to see a skinny, glaring woman sat up in the bed opposite Helen's.

"Sorry."

"Dunno why you're looking in there," she said, curling her nose up. "Ain't no one been in that bed for three days."

"My friend's sister just got moved here-"

"No she didn't."

Alex tried to smile, "Uh, yes, she did. The nurse just told me."

"Listen 'ere, I know fifty times as much as these nurses in 'ere, so don't you think you'd best be listening to me? Never listen you young'uns, think you know it all. Well I told them I had fluid in my spine and no one listened till I couldn't take it no more. You know what they said? You know? They came in 'ere all _professional _and told me 'oh Mrs Hunter, you...'"

Alex stopped listening, focussing on the curtain covered bed. She should have just looked, but instead she listened. Surely someone as badly injured as Helen should have some sort of beeping machine. That's what all seriously ill people have, isn't it? But there weren't any beeps sounding from the inside of the curtain.

"Fluid in my spine!" Mrs Hunter shouted up. "Fluid in my spine! Came up with some poncy name for it."

"Syringomyelia," Alex said distractedly.

"That's the one and... hey, what are you doin'?"

Alex paused in her motion of pulling the curtain back, "What? According to you, no one's here."

"Still don't give you permission to touch these things. Could have germs you could. Now you've gone and touched that. Well done, lass, well done. Coulda just killed someone."

Alex ignored her and popped her head through the gap in the curtain. The bed was empty. Pristine white. No creases. Waiting.

She pulled the curtain back across, confusion as thick as tar in her head.

"Told you so," the woman said. "Don't listen. Just don't listen. _He _didn't either. You're all the same. All the same."

"What?"

"Don't you 'what' me, young lady. Say 'pardon' if you didn't 'ear me."

"Has someone else been to this bed in the last few minutes. A boy? You said 'he', why?"

"Y'what?" the woman asked, seemingly forgetting her own rule.

Alex took a deep breath to garner what little remained of her patience, "Was there someone else looking for Helen Baxter in this bed?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Well I don't know do I?" the woman snapped. "I ain't Facebook or whatever you young'uns use these days."

"Then describe!"

The woman's face turned murderous, "Ooh, you're a right piece of work you are. Your mother know you talk to your elders like that? Need a good slap, girl."

Alex shook her head, turning away. The woman was talking rubbish. Probably because no one could stand talking to her in the first place. She didn't know anything.

"Wait!" she called when Alex began to walk away. "Come back!"

Alex stopped, "No offence but you can't tell me anything of importance right now."

"I can! I can! There was a boy like you looking for a Helen. Blonde, brown hair. Tall. Gave me a phone."

"A phone?" Alex's heart began to pound. That description definitely fitted Logan. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sure. He told me to give it to the next person to go to that bed," she pointed to the one beside Alex. "A girl with black hair."

"And you were just going to let me walk away?" Alex asked, aghast. "You have to know it's meant for me!"

"I'm not bleeding FedEx!"

"Where is it?"

"Got one of the nurses to put it in the bin," she pointed to a small wicker waste paper bin near the door. "Ain't my responsibility, I'm sick you know. Fluid in my spine..."

Alex ran over to it and knelt beside it, filtering through ripped pamphlets and a pair of old socks until she found the phone. She recognised it immediately as Logan's. It was just a cheap one, not a touch-screen or Blackberry. He had to keep changing every few weeks. It wasn't password protected and Alex unlocked it. The first screen that came up was a message draft. It hadn't been sent.

_To: Anya_

_I'm sorry. I know you told me to stop saying it but you don't know what I'm apologising for. Well, you know half of what I'm apologising for and the other half you'll see later. I just hope you forgive me as easily as you did before._

_I need to take care of H. She's not as tough as she makes out to be. Kinda reminds me of someone. I had help getting her out of here and out of London where it's safe while we were talking. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this in person but I know what you're like. You'd want to come too. Too kind for your own damn good._

_I know what you're thinking, but we'll be okay, I promise. Don't look for us. I know how to get around Seb and James. They did partly raise me, after all. I'll come back when H is better and after all this has finished. You know what I mean. I'll write every week, too risky to email or text, to prove we're okay. I hope this is enough for you._

_As for Mum they'll cremate her as per what she wrote in her will. She wrote it after having me. Good job, eh? I think she had glimpse into the future there. Don't go to the funeral because there won't be one. She never wanted that. As for my other sisters, don't go to theirs either. I know you want to but it isn't safe. They'll have their friends there. H and I can grieve together for all of them somewhere far away. That sounds like I'm romanticising it, but I swear I'm not. I know how hard this is going to be. And I know you're going to worry about me, so I'm going to cut a deal:_

_I'll be strong if you be strong._

_We both can be - we grew up under pretty difficult circumstances, right?_

_Not quite finished, nearly there. Talking like this, saying goodbye again, it makes me think of when we were little. Remember? Goodbyes always make me remember, probably my mind just wanting to make me sad. I'm rambling but there's a point to this. I just wanted to say, remember when we were kids, I'd always give you a piggy back when you got tired when we played tag-hide-and-seek on the streets. You were always the sprinter, rubbish at long-distance. I want to give you some advice from your brother - don't be afraid to ask for a piggy back when you get tired. I won't be there to give you them (I haven't been for nearly two years now, so you should be used to that) but someone else will be. I wouldn't do this if I didn't know that. _

_Again, I'm so sorry._

_I hope you get the reference of the name. _

_I'll see you some day._

_I love you, Anya._

_Mowgli_

_X_

_"What is it?" the woman in the bed demanded. _

Alex watched her thumb press down on the delete button, and then followed the phone as it slipped from her hand back into the bin. The screen shattered and went white, then black.

She did get the reference. When the pair had been little, whenever they played a game, they would change their names. Sometimes even when they weren't playing and just wanted other people to think they were actually called that. They'd construct new personas and backgrounds, escaping who they really were for an afternoon.

Alex chose Anya because of one of her favourite childhood films, Anastasia. That was what the little Russian girl had been called before she found out her true identity as a princess and realised she was called Anastasia. Alex said she preferred when Anya was just Anya, so that had always been her make believe name.

Logan had chosen Mowgli. He never told her why exactly. Perhaps it was just because he liked The Jungle Book.

Alex glanced back at the woman with syringomyelia. She had fallen silent now, eyeing her like one does a TV when there is a particularly riveting plot twist in their favourite soap opera.

"I hope you get better soon," Alex said, and left.

She felt like she should be crying, sad that he was gone for the second time now, after losing his mother and three sisters in one go, and caring for an unconscious fourth one. Or if not sad, angry at him for letting her drone on about her taking care of him and Helen. Maybe she should have felt determined to find them. But she didn't. This was between them. Logan called her his sister, but Helen didn't. And Logan wasn't stupid. If Moran and Moriarty did find them, he would know to call for help. He wouldn't take unnecessary risks with Helen there. She would know if something happened to him if the letters stopped.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that outside the hospital, she jumped into someone. She gave them a half-hearted apology and went to walk away, when they pulled her back by her arm.

"What are you - ?" she stopped mid-sentence, seeing the face of her uncle.

Sherlock let go of her, "What are _you _doing? Where's Logan?"

Alex sighed and looked up the street. She wondered how he managed it. He said he had help, but what did that entail? Getaway driver? A friend from Edinburgh?

"Alex."

"He's gone," she said. "Just me."

He frowned at her and Alex felt panic wash over her. How was she supposed to explain this? They couldn't find out about Logan, no way. They would never let him near her again. They would track him down and take Helen away and throw Logan in a cell of some kind. Or worse, use him against Moriarty and Moran. She knew they would, because if she hadn't known Logan and the opportunity arose that she had Moran's son, she would do the same.

Sherlock huffed impatiently and grabbed the sleeve of her coat, pulling her to the cab he had told to wait by the side of the road. Alex stumbled to keep up.

"Sherlock what the hell?"

"We're going home and you're going to tell me exactly what's happening. No excuses, no distractions. Then maybe I can understand what's going on in that idiotic little brain of yours."

Alex had stopped listening after the first sentence. Her heart pounded, palm sweated, and she was suddenly more frightened than she had been when she was locked in a cupboard with Bradshaw.

* * *

><p>She stared into her tea. It was no longer hot, just lukewarm. She had been trying to stall by drinking it as slowly as possible until her hands gathered no warmth from being wrapped around the mug. With dread, she got to the last sip and stared into the dregs of the teabag at the bottom. Before she could pretend to drink more, Sherlock took the mug from her and put it on the coffee table. Alex shuffled uncomfortably.<p>

"From the beginning."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be telling you," Alex said innocently.

"Please don't try that, it's embarrassing and wastes time for both of us."

Alex flinched, "Sorry."

He motioned for her to continue but the words caught in her throat. She didn't know where to begin, what to say, even how to say it. She thought Sherlock might help her out, but he continued to sit back in his chair and regard her silently. She was in the client chair, something she didn't like a great deal.

"Okay," Alex said. "What I'm going to tell you isn't... isn't great. But I need you to promise me that you won't do anything."

"Elaborate."

"I need you to promise that you won't act on what I'm telling you."

"No deal. Carry on."

_"Sherlock," _Alex moaned. "You really aren't making this easy."

"That's not my job. My job is to keep you safe and marginally happy. At the I'm not doing this particularly well, and whatever this situation is, it's stopping me from working and our relationship from functioning, which is extremely tiring and irritating," Sherlock said, the words coming so fast that Alex had to strain to hear them. "And I know this _thing _has something to do with Logan Baxter and his sudden move to Scotland and his family's untimely death. Start there if you're having so much trouble."

"I need you to promise you won't do anything first."

"No."

"You have to."

"Nope."

"Sherlock, it's done now. There's nothing you can do. It's sorted," Alex said shortly.

"Evidently not. Can we hurry this up a bit? It's getting boring."

Alex couldn't take it anymore. It would be one less lie off her chest, and Logan - if he had any sense, which she knew he did - would be far, far away, out of arm's reach. Or strangling-hands'-reach.

She had expected the dread, fear, panic, and desperation to increase as she progressed with the story. She had underestimated herself. When she told him, she did it calmly and without an inkling of upset. It wasn't emotionless and affected, just matter-of-fact. She surprised herself with how easy it actually was to speak about it. It was like once she got going, the words ordered themselves into sentences, one after the other without a hitch. She had expected a lump in her throat and tears and eventual crying, like she had when she first found out about Logan's parentage, but there was none of that this time. That, she presumed, played a part in how remarkably calm Sherlock seemed to be when she finished her story.

He took a sip of tea.

"I'm surprised you or Mycroft didn't pick it up actually," Alex said.

"You are relatively average at keeping things from Mycroft and I. Unfortunately for us, your mother was an expert. If she didn't want us to find out about something, we didn't."

"She didn't want you to find out about her connection with Logan and Christine," Alex propped her elbow up on the armrest. "It hasn't sunk in that she's actually dead. Jesus."

"Jesus died a long time ago, you should be over it by now."

Alex gave him a look, but there was a splash of humour. She turned serious as she thought of Logan and Helen, "You think they'll be okay?"

Sherlock shrugged, "He seems resourceful enough. And apologetic, which is good."

"I'm really shocked at how well you're taking this."

Something about the look he gave her then made suspicion curdle in Alex's stomach.

"You almost look... relieved..." the penny finally dropping, Alex threw her head back into the chair with a slight growl of annoyance to herself. "Of course, you already knew."

"Only when you packed him off to Edinburgh, if that's any consolation," Sherlock said, a hint of amusement to his voice.

"So ever since then when I came up with clever little lies whenever someone brought him up, you knew exactly what was going on."

"Of course. Like I said, you're only average at hiding things."

"Mycroft knows?"

"Do you even need to ask that? Regretfully, we consulted on what would be the best course of action. Keeping him away from Moran and Moriarty was priority so that's what we did. In the end, we got we wanted - him away from you, and you away from everything attached to him. Though, when I first found out I admit, child or not, I wanted to set him in concrete from the waist down and throw him in the Thames."

"Glad you didn't do that," Alex said. "I have a feeling we wouldn't be best of friends from then on."

Sherlock nodded a picked up his empty mug, "Well, it's getting late. You should probably go to-"

"Sherlock."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Moran."

"What about him?"

"'Please don't try that, it's embarrassing and wastes time for both of us,'" Alex quoted. "He was at the hospital, Mycroft told me. And obviously he told you, no matter how much he would have rather dunked his head in a septic tank."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up, "He got away."

"Did he follow Logan?"

"No."

"You sound confident about that," Alex said dubiously.

"I am."

"100%?"

"100% with no margin for error. I promise."

Alex nodded. Her eyes were heavy with sleep and she ran a hand through her hair.

"I feel like I've forgotten something," she mumbled. "Maybe it's just the stress of everything."

"It's nothing," Sherlock said. "Go to bed. You'll feel fine in the morning."

"Mm, my bed sounds very inviting right now," she said, standing up and walking over to the door. It was only when she glanced over to the cluttered desk and saw the revision book that she remembered. She felt as if she had been stabbed. "Oh my God."

"Alex, you're tired-"

"Why didn't you remind me?! Surely they called you?! Oh God. Biology and chemistry. I missed _both. _What the _hell?!" _Alex wheeled around to face Sherlock. "What am I going to do?"

"It's sorted. The dates have been changed-"

"Urgh, why can't things just go _right _and _normal _for once?"

"Quieten down, Mrs Hudson will be sleeping."

" Oh God, I missed my exams and I didn't even _think. _And don't use that as an excuse, you shoot the wall in the middle of the night. You just don't like dealing with me when I'm angry!"

"Funnily enough, I don't," Sherlock said, forcing her to sit on the sofa. She found her muscles strangely cooperative. "Which is why I put something in your tea."

"What?"

"Your second cup so you didn't fall asleep on me mid-conversation."

"You didn't," Alex glared at him, daring him to say otherwise.

"Yes, I did. That's what I just said, weren't you listening?"

"That's... illegal..." Alex said, beginning to droop.

"No it isn't."

"T'is. I'm... telling... Mycroft."

"Just sleep, it's easier for both of us."

Alex felt her shoulders slump, "I hate you... so much."

"I hate you too," he said, picking up the empty mug. "Sleep well."

Alex managed to pull the blanket draped over the back of the sofa over herself before she couldn't hold on any longer and surrendered to whatever totally legal, totally parents-approved drug her uncle had slipped her.

* * *

><p>Mycroft stood, staring at the man sat in the middle of the cell. His face was calm. He even had the nerve to allow a small smile to curve his lips. It wasn't noticeable at first glance, but when someone stared at him as much as Mycroft had, it began to take a life of its own, somehow growing bit by bit yet not moving at all.<p>

The eldest Holmes had to look away. At least Moran hadn't stayed as long as Moriarty had. The sidekick didn't have the same way of getting under his skin as his handler did. Perhaps it was the fact that he had had a child with his sister. But going from what he didn't know about May, Moran could have too.

Mycroft shook his head and took a deep breath. It was time.

"All right," he spoke into the comms unit. "Let him go."

He watched from his screen as a man opened the cell door and let Sebastian Moran out. He gave the guard a salute and a thanks for the company for the evening. He sauntered off. Then it was the other's turn. Jim Moriarty stood up. His step had a bounce that no man ever leaving a captivity like the one he had endured should have. He kept that maddening smile on his face as he glanced up into the camera, seemingly straight into Mycroft's eyes, then walked out of shot.

He was gone. Both of them were. The plan was in action.

Mycroft wasn't a man sentimental enough to keep a photo of Alex on his desk, like others in his position would have. But he imagined her sitting in the chair in front of him, nervously biting her lip. Just a naughty child being scolded for running riot through the house. That's where she would always sit, swinging her grass-stained legs, feet not able to touch the floor yet.

He knew she was older now, no longer that naughty little girl and now a young woman. He also knew that both he and Sherlock had agreed that she would be able to handle it.

But, if there was one moment in his life that Mycroft Holmes doubted himself, it was then. And now it was out of his control.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh God, Reichenbach. I don't know how I'm going to cope. I'm sorry. And, once again, we haven't seen the end of Logan, and this wasn't just a little filler chapter, what happened here will play a part in the future...<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, RainbowSilenced, emilybrock101, POTC misty potter temple, JJ, FlewandFlied, armstrongjess, TheCurlyGal6218, Xenon Scorpia, Kasterborous Sven, and persephonie025 for reviewing!**

**Replies for chapter 105 (and any others I've missed) shall be sent to you before I go to bed, promise!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	107. The Reichenbach Fall - Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Very sorry for the wait but I've been sick again. My immune system is terrible and I have been in and out of hospital and doctor's surgeries none stop so I couldn't bring myself to write - none of it would have made any sense even if I did, haha. But, I'm back to normal now and hopefully will be for as long as possible.**

**There's an important notice at the end of this chapter.**

**Here it is. The beginning of Reichenbach. Welcome back, everybody.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously: _

_He knew she was older now, no longer that naughty little girl and now a young woman. He also knew that both he and Sherlock had agreed that she would be able to handle it._

_But, if there was one moment in his life that Mycroft Holmes doubted himself, it was then. And now it was out of his control._

Once Alex had woken up the next morning, she had calmed down a little, and called Mycroft. He said he'd moved her exams forward a fortnight. She thanked him and got back to work revising, John being invaluable for biology and Sherlock being invaluable for everything else – except for the astronomy unit of the physics curriculum. She could live with that. Mars was the hot one, right?

She was extremely nervous before the first exam, but when that one went well, she stopped stressing out as much and the others went just as well. Maths was a little bit heart-breaking but she could live with that. They were all over in the space of three weeks, after which, Alex felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and a part of her brain lifted from her head. It hadn't helped that she'd pulled all-nighters with Sherlock and John on cases throughout that time, but some had been too much to resist.

One of these cases entailed a painting called Falls of the Reichenbach being stolen from an auction house. It was one of Turner's masterpieces worth £1.7 million, and that, in Alex's opinion, was much more important than history revision. Sherlock found the culprit – obviously – and recovered the painting soon after being consulted. That wasn't surprising, but what really surprised Alex was the press coverage. They had been in the newspaper before but never to this extent. As more cases piled in, it seemed she couldn't walk down the street without seeing Sherlock and John's faces – the press still didn't seem too keen on her, and therefore was usually mentioned as an after-thought.

It was a shock then, when on her way to her English exam, a girl spotted her from across the road and ran over – nearly being crushed by a bus in the process – and stood in front of Alex, doe-eyed.

"Oh my God, it's you," the girl whispered.

She looked only ten with short black hair and blushing cheeks. She was wearing a coat that was much too big for her, reaching down to her knees, with a sewn-on collar that was popped up to brush her cheekbones. It seemed to Alex like a handmade trench coat.

"Hey," Alex said with a confused smile. "I'm really sorry, have we met?"

"No, no, no, I'm just a fan. A _big _fan."

"Really? Wow, usually it's only my uncle who gets fans…"

"I want to be just like you when I grow up," the girl beamed. "You sort out all the criminals and work out the clues, don't you? You're a detective, right? An-and you started when you were about my age, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I started pretty young but it's mostly my uncle and John who do all that. I just kinda go along with it," Alex shrugged.

"That's not true! Someone filmed you while you were working and you're talking to Sherlock Holmes, helping him with deductions."

Alex fought hard to keep her smile in place, "That sounds… flattering… if not a little creepy. Thanks. I was probably just annoying him though, he's much better than me so doesn't often need my help."

"I'm growing my hair, too," the girl ploughed on, regardless. "I used to be blonde but I dyed it. I'm quite pale but not _you _pale so I kinda look like you but not as much as I'd like to. Can you sign my notebook?" the girl asked eagerly, taking a thick jotter out of her bag.

"Sure," Alex said uncertainly and took the book.

On the cover, the girl had scribbled the words _I 3 Alex Holmes _and _Consulting Detective in Training _along with some other things that made Alex feel vaguely uncomfortable. She flipped to the front page and saw that the book was filled with newspaper clippings of the three of them, complete with cut-out pictures and doodles.

"What's your name?" Alex asked, completely lost as to what she should write.

"Jasmine Harrington."

Remembering what an author had written in one of the books Alex had got signed, she used the same sort of structure and wrote:

_To Jasmine,_

_Thanks for the support! We might be working together some day!_

_Love, _

_Alex_

_X_

She closed the book and handed it back, "Well I'd better be going."

But she couldn't get rid of the child, whose mother was trailing behind them. They followed her all the way to the local school where she finally said goodbye. Before going into the exam and handing her phone in, Alex sent a text to Sherlock.

**Got a ten year-old stalker. Yey! If I go missing, look for Jasmine Harrington. I should call her Annie Wilkes, she's very Misery-esque. We'll see her in the future. Wish me luck! – AH**

**In your exam or avoiding being kidnapped by your fan? – SH**

**Both – AH**

**Good luck – SH**

She was the only one to walk into that exam hall with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p>It was timed quite well, as just after her last exam was her birthday. Just not having to worry about them anymore was a good enough gift. But, as it always seemed in her life, when she had managed to shake off one worry, another one surely grew in its place.<p>

Her birthday.

17.

Most would be excited but in Alex's world, special occasions acquired special attention from a special someone that Alex really didn't have the energy to contend with. She had used all that energy up arguing with Anthea about parties – _"Can you please just look at what's happened for the past two years in a row? Yeah, thanks, staying at home." _Sherlock seemed to be on board with that idea. Less socialising. But he didn't seem to be too concerned about Moriarty making an appearance, which Alex found odd.

Her birthday inevitably came and Alex woke up, blinking at her bedroom ceiling.

"Seventeen," she muttered.

She didn't feel any different. She sighed and looked around the empty room, supposing she should get up. With effort, she pulled herself up and slipped into her dressing gown and slippers. The thing about having a birthday in autumn in Britain meant that running out into the garden in just pyjamas to have birthday breakfast on the lawn just wasn't possible. Rather, it wasn't sane.

Sherlock and John were up when she came downstairs and fell onto the sofa with a sigh.

"Happy birthday," John said, a little sarcastically. "Is happy the right word?"

Alex laughed at him, "I seem to remember you having a right face on on your birthday. Hypocrite."

"You're not as old as I am."

"Feel it."

"Trying being it."

Alex laughed again and looked over to Sherlock, raising an eyebrow. He was reading a book, face blank except from his eyes darting across the page. John cleared his throat and he looked up, seeing Alex.

"Oh, happy birthday," he said, and went back to the book.

"Thanks," Alex said, exchanging an amused look with John. "Just think, one more year and I'll have beaten teenage pregnancy."

Sherlock shook his head marginally, giving a small huff.

John grinned, "You want some toast?"

"Yes, please."

As he stood, John cleared his throat again at Sherlock again.

"Oh what now?" Sherlock groaned, reluctantly raising his head. "What? I've said happy birthday what else do you want me to do?"

John's eyes widened meaningfully, motioning to Alex.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning to his niece, "I think he wants me to hug you. Settle for a mental one."

"Cheers," Alex said.

"No, you idiot," John said. "What else do you give someone on their birthday?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, then his expression cleared, "Oh yes, presents are behind you," he raised his hands at John. "Happy now?"

John mumbled something under his breath and went to the kitchen to make breakfast, while Alex laughed and climbed over the back of the sofa. She pulled the small pile of neatly wrapped boxes onto her knee.

They were mostly books from her wish list, each one making her more excited than she should be. Most of those were from Sherlock. Mycroft bought her a bracelet that looked way too expensive and special to ever wear anywhere because she knew for a fact she'd break or lose it. She settled for carefully placing it on her desk and resolving never to touch it again.

Sherlock and Mycroft didn't believe in card giving – they barely believed in giving gifts – but she got one from John, Molly, Lestrade, Anthea, Mrs Hudson, and even one from Raz. She had to say that Lestrade's was the best. He had gotten her a Scooby-Doo one with HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY written across the top. He had scribbled a one in front of the seven. Alex resolved to keep that one for a long, long time.

Other family members she didn't see – such as her grandparents – sent their cards through the post, so would arrive later on in the day.

After thanking them all for her gifts and cards, Alex carried her duvet downstairs and pulled it around herself as she sat on the living room window sill. It was deep enough to fit her on comfortably, and it was an extremely good place to start her new book, watching the frost harden on the outside of the window.

John had gone out with his friend – Stamford, whom Alex wasn't keen on – so it was just her and Sherlock in the flat. Though it might as well have been just her, as Sherlock was engrossed in another volume. It was in a different language, so Alex didn't have a clue what it said. She amused herself by hoping it was a pulp fiction novel from a supermarket clearance basket that he was too ashamed to read in English.

She meanwhile finished her own book and was curled up by the window waiting for the postman. She had told herself not to let the worry she had buried surface and reading had managed to do just that. But now she was sat with an open, unoccupied mind. The most dangerous kind when you're trying _not _to think of something.

Subconsciously, she tugged at the sleeve of her pyjama shirt sleeve. It started to fray and she twirled the thread around her finger. Only when she felt a vague jab of pain did she realise what she was doing. She had constricted the blood flow to her index finger so much that the tip was turning purple.

"If you want to amputate your finger there are better ways to do it," Sherlock said, swivelled over the back of his chair to look at her. "You should have just said, I could have bought you a good surgeon instead of Games of Thrones."

Alex rolled her eyes good-naturedly, "You could do it for free."

"I don't actually have a license to do that, you know. That was just something I used to tell you."

"I know," Alex said in a 'duh' voice. "I'm joking."

"Oh good, joking's a good sign."

"What are you cracking on about?"

Sherlock shook his head, standing up and swapping chairs so he could talk to her easily, "I don't know how you pick up your vocabulary. You don't get any outside influence from anyone who speaks like that."

"I was a street rat, remember," Alex said. "Our gang was revered among London's primary schools."

"Hardly."

"You don't know the half of what we did."

"I would rather keep the illusion that you lost your innocence around twelve. Or what little you were born with, at least," Sherlock said. "That way I can convince myself I didn't completely fail in raising you."

Alex shot him a smile and lifted her wrist out of the duvet. She huffed when she saw she didn't have her watch on.

"It's eleven," Sherlock said. "Any minute."

"What?"

"You're waiting for the post. Nice job at trying to be subtle, by the way."

Alex went back to picking her sleeve. She didn't reply for a few seconds.

"You know, I've been watching quite a few boxsets and films with John recently when you're busy in the kitchen."

"I've noticed that Netflix has been taking money out of my account every month."

"There've been quite a few that have similar themes. There's a person – usually a man – who has a weird talent for reading people like you do, and his family make him promise not to use his talents on them. To know when they're lying, what they're feeling, stuff like that. I just wondered why I never did that."

"Because it's stupid."

"No it isn't."

"It cuts out the wasted time trying to coax things out of people. You banned me from deducing for a day when you were a child and I felt like a simpleton. I don't know how normal people don't lose their minds."

Alex was about to reply when a movement outside caught her eye. It was the postman, walking up to the door. She made to get up but Sherlock was already across the room, walking down the stairs to the front door.

The thread was longer now, enough to wrap around her wrist several times. She tugged.

She heard Sherlock's footsteps stop. Paper being collected from the floor. Another pause. They resumed, stairs creaking. He entered the room, throwing a pile of letters onto Alex's lap and sitting in John's chair so he could still comfortably see her.

Alex the ones that had handwritten addresses aside. She recognised those. Then, one by one, she opened the ones she didn't recognise. Her hands were shaking ever-so-slightly. She made her way through them steadily, each being well-wishes from great-aunts and second cousins. Then she got to the last one. It had to be this one. It had to be.

She looked at Sherlock. He looked back. She focussed back on the letter, turning it over. Running her finger under the paper, she ripped the top and let the card slip out. It was pink with a rose in the middle. Alex picked it up from her lap and opened it. Her eyes darted to the bottom.

She laughed.

"Who's Aunty Gertrude?"

Sherlock smiled, laughing quietly, "Your grandmother's cousin. Satisfied now? No card."

Alex shook her head with a smile, picking up the rest of the letters, "I'll go and take these upstairs."

She carried them up to her bedroom and went to put them on her desk, when two fell from the bottom, having stuck to the envelopes in front. Alex stooped down and picked them up. The address on both were handwritten, and she recognised one immediately. She opened it up.

_Alex, _

_Happy birthday. You can legally drive now so I'm glad I'm off London's streets. Everything here is good. H is doing well. She's recovering._

_Have a great day and excuse the lack of present. Money's quite tight at the moment. Nothing to worry about though. _

_Love,_

_Mowgli and H_

_X_

Alex smiled and slid the card under the frame of her mirror so it jutted out. She stared at it a little longer and turned her attention to the other card. This one's handwriting she didn't recognise.

_It must be this one, _she thought.

But it wasn't. On the front was a picture of a girl holding up a dress in one hand and a pair of heels in the other. As she opened it, gift vouchers for a number of clothing stores fell to the carpet.

_Happy 17__th__ birthday, Alex._

_From,_

_Will._

_P.S. I didn't know what to get you but every time we've met you've been wearing the same thing and it's beginning to look a bit worse for wear. It's time to get some new clothes. You can tell you live with two men. _

"Wow gender stereotyping," Alex muttered with a grin.

She certainly hadn't been expecting a card from them. She was about to slot William's next to Logan's, then had a vision of Sherlock snooping around and elected to hide it in the drawer she hid most things in – her underwear drawer, the safest place in the flat. She turned her attention back to the cards from her extended family. Once all had been opened and sorted away, she returned to the living room. John was back.

"Hey," she said brightly. "You're back early. Stamford boring?"

"His wife called him back. She's convinced he's cheating," John said. "If I ever get into a relationship like that, please help me fake my death and start a new life in Australia."

"Deal," Alex said, laughing. "It's a shame Janus Cars isn't still in operation. Sherlock and Mycroft could do a better job anyway no doubt. Used to threaten me with it all the time. Right, Sherlock?"

"Hmm," he mumbled.

"Or I suppose we could just kill you. Be quicker," Alex joked.

"Ha ha," John said sardonically. "Anyway, I just got an email from Netflix saying they've put the next series of that show we watched a few weeks ago. Want to watch?"

"Definitely," Alex said, reaching for the TV remote. "As long as Sherlock watches too."

Sherlock paused, already rising from his chair, "No way."

"Yes."

"Not going to happen."

"Birthday privileges."

_"No."_

Alex shook her head, taking out her phone, "I didn't want to have to do this."

"What are you talking about?"

**Mycroft, Sherlock's being mean and it's my birthday. Tell him he has to watch TV with me – AH**

Almost immediately, Sherlock's phone buzzed. It was on the sofa next to Alex and she lifted it up to show him.

**Do as she says – MH**

"That's why he's my favourite."

Sherlock glared at her, "Is your birthday over yet?"

"Nope. I have another ten hours left. Plenty time to binge watch terrible TV shows. Sit your butt down."

His glare intensified but he eventually swallowed his pride and sat. Alex gave John a high-five as the opening credits rolled on the screen – while Sherlock rolled his eyes.

A case came up in under five minutes. Alex had never seen Sherlock move so fast.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe he did this in two days," John whispered to her.<p>

Alex, straining to hear him over the babble of reporters at the press conference in Scotland Yard, nodded, "It's took them years to even get close. You think Donovan and Anderson can look any more furious?"

They laughed quietly and went to stand near Sherlock, who was watching the affair with barely-concealed boredom.

"Peter Ricoletti: number one on Interpol's Most Wanted list since 1982," Lestrade told the reporters. "But we got him; and there's one person we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads ... with all his customary diplomacy and tact," he said, turning to Sherlock.

Alex snorted.

John leaned over to Sherlock, "Sarcasm."

"Yes," Sherlock said with an insincere smile.

Oblivious, the reporters began to applaud, which made Sherlock look even more uncomfortable. Lestrade reached into his pocket and handed him a wrapped gift, grinning broadly.

"We all chipped in," he said.

With a suspicious glance at Lestrade, Sherlock ripped off the wrapping paper. Alex looked over his shoulder, and giggled. A deer stalker.

"Ah."

A chorus of 'put the hat on' erupted around the room, making Sherlock groan just loud enough for Alex and John to hear.

"Just get it over with," John said.

Alex murmured her agreement.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and, not without a glower at everyone in the room, put the deer stalker on. As soon as it made contact with his head, the applauding resumed and the trio were blinded by sudden camera flashes.

"Can I take it off yet?" Sherlock asked John.

"Wait a moment," John whispered, waiting for a few more flashes. "... Now you can."

Before John had even finished speaking, Sherlock whipped off the hat and held it by his side, Alex noticing how constricting his grip was around it. Just how much he hated it amused her greatly, as did the efforts the press were going to to ignore her. However, when one reporter shouted about Alex being Sherlock and John's adopted child, they decided it would be best to leave.

"Go back to ignoring me, please," Alex called on the way out.

* * *

><p>"'Boffin.' 'Boffin Sherlock Holmes'," Sherlock chuntered, throwing the newspaper he was reading down on the table in front of John.<p>

"What are you going on about?" Alex asked, looking up from one of the books she had gotten for her birthday.

John opened up the newspaper and showed her the page Sherlock had been looking at. Alex winced.

"Everyone gets one," John said.

"One what?" Sherlock snapped.

"Tabloid nickname. 'SuBo'; 'Nasty Nick.' Shouldn't worry – I'll probably get one soon."

"Page five, column six, first sentence."

John turned to the page, Alex looking over his shoulder. She tried to stifle a laugh when he blustered, "_Bachelor?! Bachelor _John Watson?"

"Why is it always the hat photograph?" Sherlock said to himself, punching the deer stalker.

"It's better than the being the 'possible adopted child of the couple who won't admit they're in a relationship'. Do they even factor in the fact that I was living with Sherlock ten years ago and we've only known you for two?"

"'Bachelor'," John muttered, ignoring her.

"It's not that bad," Alex consoled. "Some say it's a synonym for happy."

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock said.

"But I mean, what the hell are they implying?" John continued to rant. "There's something _wrong _with me? I've had girlfriends. Sarah lasted a long time!"

Alex, feeling as if she was torn between two different conversations and finding the whole thing rather hilarious, giggled quietly to herself.

"You just haven't found the right person yet," she said.

"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?" Sherlock asked, twisting said hat in his hands.

"It's a deerstalker," John said, his normally mellow voice tinged with annoyance. "'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson…'"

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do – throw it?"

"_Confirmed _bachelor John Watson! Look, Alex! Look at this!"

"Come on, guys, let it go."

"Some sort of death frisbee?"

"Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful," John said seriously.

"It's got flaps ... ear flaps. It's an _ear_ hat, John," Sherlock threw the hat frisbee-style over to John, who caught it deftly. "What do you mean 'more careful'?"

"I mean this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat," he tossed the hat onto the coffee table. "I mean that you're not exactly a _private_ detective any more. You're _this _far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass," Sherlock shrugged, dropping into his armchair.

"Will it?" Alex said sceptically. "Because as cases go on, we seem to be getting more and more high-profile. It's showing no signs of passing."

"It'd _better_ pass," John said. "The press _will_ turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on _you_."

"All of us," Alex added.

Sherlock shifted his weight to one elbow, regarding John with an arched eyebrow, "It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes."

"About me? I don't understand – why would it upset _you_?"

John managed to hold the detective's gaze for a few moments before glancing back to the newspaper, folding it up and placing it next to the discarded hat.

"It's a friendship thing," Alex stage whispered to Sherlock.

"Just try to keep a low profile," John said. "Find yourself a _little_ case this week. Stay out of the news."

"Fat chance of that," Alex said, getting up. "Well, I'm off to get ready."

"Where are you going?"

"I've got a date."

Sherlock looked up at her.

"With _April," _she added with a smile. "Off to spend some of my birthday money with her. Don't get into too much trouble without me."

"I'll let you know if things get particularly exciting."

"You're the be-est," Alex sang from the stairs.

She could feel John glaring at Sherlock as she made her way to her room.

* * *

><p>"Urgh," Alex moaned, falling onto the sofa with an exaggerated 'oomph'.<p>

John glanced over at her from where he was typing up their last case for his blog, wet hair dripping down his neck.

"Hello."

Sherlock didn't acknowledge her, he was too engrossed in staring through the microscope on the kitchen table.

Alex groaned in response.

"Bad day with April?" John asked.

"Just made a few bad decisions. Spending fifty pounds in Starbucks being one of them. There are only so many Pumpkin Spice Lattes and blueberry muffins the human body can take and I think April and I exceeded that by about five," she rolled over to face the back of the sofa. "I'm going to die."

"No, leave that to Henry Fishgard," John said.

"Who?"

John pointed to the space above the archway to the kitchen and Alex rolled back to see a mannequin hanging from the ceiling.

"Lovely."

"Really brightens up the room, doesn't it?"

"I swear I'm going to throw up. And what keeps buzzing underneath me?"

She rummaged around for the source of the vibrating and found Sherlock's phone.

"Oi, Holmes!" she called to her uncle.

"Referring to yourself in third person is a sign of disassociation, you know," Sherlock drawled without looking up from whatever he was experimenting on.

"Good job I'm talking to you then. Make your phone shut up."

"It's being doing it for a while now, you'll get used to it," Sherlock replied.

Alex was about to reply when another wave of nausea hit her, "Urghhh."

"Ginger helps," John said, more amused than helpful.

"Mrs Hudson will have some," Alex said, struggling to her feet.

Just as she was leaving, she heard Sherlock's phone trill again and John say 'I'll get it then, shall I?' tetchily.

Mrs Hudson did indeed have some ginger biscuits and root ginger, which helped immeasurably. After a few minutes, she felt fine again, and no longer regretted having that muffin eating competition with April.

She walked back up the stairs to her flat with more bounce in her step than she had when she first arrived home – she had practically crawled up. She opened the door and found the boys in the kitchen. She leant against the wall, smiling.

"What do you know, ginger actually works. Thanks, John. No thanks, Sherlock," she joked.

But no one laughed. Sherlock was holding his phone, staring at the screen as calmly as ever, except for the slightly too-tight grip of his other hand on the microscope, experiment now forgotten. John had worry written across his face as he looked back at her.

"What's up with you two?"

John met Sherlock's eye. Alex too looked at Sherlock expectantly, smile now gone.

"Has something happened?" she asked.

Sherlock pursed his lips a fraction, then turned the phone so the screen was facing her. Alex pushed off from the wall and walked forward a little, squinting to see the words.

She suddenly felt sick again.

She blinked several times.

**Come and play.**

**Tower Hill.**

**Jim Moriarty x**

Finally finding her voice, she tried to sound as unaffected as possible as she said,

"I'll get my coat."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: RainbowSilenced, Guest, persephonie025, shnuffeluv, mysteryasgardian, FlewandFlied, TheCurlyGal6218, the-goblet-of-deduction, emilybrock101, Taiannie, and Hanna for reviewing!<strong>

**Replies have already been sent to you! :D**

**OKAY IMPORTANT NOTICE - The amazing emilybrock101 has done an amazingly awesome thing and made a fanmix and trailer for Exception! It's absolutely amazing (I've said that three times now, hmm) and the links are on my profile. Check them out! And thanks again to the wonderful emilybrock101. You're amazing. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	108. The Reichenbach Fall - Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hi, everyone. I guess we're all just as shaken as each other with the events that have taken place this weekend in France, Beirut, and everywhere else that has been subjected to the ridiculous attacks by brainwashed idiots. To everyone involved, know that the world is on your side, we all care, and we all want to help. If anyone, involved or not, happy or sad, needs to talk, just drop me a pm.**

**That in mind, I hope whoever is reading this is able to see a light through all of this. There always is one. **

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She suddenly felt sick again. _

_She blinked several times._

**_Come and play._**

**_Tower Hill._**

**_Jim Moriarty x_**

_Finally finding her voice, she tried to sound as unaffected as possible as she said,_

_"I'll get my coat."_

As they were led through the corridors at the Tower of London to the security office, Alex stayed silent. She didn't understand how she felt; it was different to the other times Moriarty had popped up in her life. She didn't feel frightened of him, she knew that. Or at least, she knew she didn't feel that limb-locking, stomach-flipping terror that she usually associated with him. Perhaps after all this time, what happened at the funhouse was finally beginning to fade. The scar was now white, blending in well with the skin around it, but still there if one concentrated enough.

Different.

Alex settled on that. That was how she felt. No other words seem to describe it. Foreboding perhaps played a cameo role too. Just a glimpse. Nothing Oscar-worthy. Not yet.

They stopped at a computer, Lestrade tapping a few keys and playing the video footage. Alex squinted, trying to see through the crowds gawking at the crown jewels, seeing which one was him in disguise. It was proving difficult.

"Where is he?" she asked aloud.

A man around his age caught her eye. Same hair colour. He wasn't close enough for Alex to see further. That must be him. But it wasn't.

As soon as he stepped into shot, there was no doubt. All he had on was a cap but there was something about the way he walked, the way he held himself, that was painstakingly familiar. The scar twinged. Phantom pain.

Lestrade went to fast forward the footage but Alex stopped him, her eyes fixed on Moriarty.

"Don't."

The DI stepped back dutifully.

She watched as the alarms went off – silent in the footage – shown only by the swell of panic-stricken faces emptying from the room. All but one. Suddenly seeing him alone in the room wasn't such a great idea.

"Y-you can fast forward it now," she said, subconsciously taking a step towards Sherlock, playing it off by making it look like she was just shifting her weight.

Lestrade did.

The screen showed Moriarty sticking something that looked like gum on the glass box encasing the crown jewels. There was something written there too, but she couldn't make it out.

"That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade said.

"Not tougher than crystallised carbon. He used a diamond," Sherlock said.

The footage then showed Moriarty thrusting a fire extinguisher right against the point he had stuck the diamond in the gum. The glass crumbled.

"There's got to be a closer camera," Sherlock said.

Lestrade called one of the security guards over, who punched a few letters on the keyboard and brought up the view from a different camera, just as Moriarty was settling into his throne, putting the crown on his head.

"Rewind it," Sherlock ordered. "Just to the point before he breaks the glass."

The man did.

"There, stop."

Alex, John, and Lestrade all looked to Sherlock, each of their faces etched with concern. He continued to stay unwaveringly at the screen, where Moriarty was neatly writing the words GET SHERLOCK on the glass.

"I hope you three enjoyed your holiday from him," Lestrade said with a sigh. "I know I did."

"Welcome back," Sherlock murmured.

* * *

><p>It was no surprise when Sherlock was called to aid the prosecution at Moriarty's trial. Alex had been expecting it ever since Lestrade told them he managed to break into Pentonville Prison, Bank of England, and Tower of London. She had accepted the fact that she and John would be going along too, but wasn't dwelling on it.<p>

She flattened her blouse, staring at her reflection in the mirror in her bedroom. It was one Anthea had dropped off, one that looked much too fancy and expensive to ever have a place in Alex's wardrobe. It was itchy around the collar. Or maybe it was just Mrs Hudson's perfume. Or maybe it was the huge amount of hairspray she used to try to get her hair into something that resembled neat.

Forgetting that the shirt probably cost more than the contents of her entire wardrobe, Alex unknowingly yet expertly unpicked a thread with her neatly painted nails and wrapped it around her finger. The motion comforted her.

"Alex, are you ready?" John called from the bottom of the stairs.

"Coming!" she shouted back.

She took one last look at herself in the mirror, fixed a smudge of mascara, and hurried off to meet Sherlock and John by the door.

"You both look good," she said.

"You too," John said.

Alex gave him a brief smile, "Let's get this over with then."

"Are you ready?" John asked Sherlock, reaching for the door handle.

"Yes. Alex?"

She nodded.

John pushed down the handle and opened the door, unleashing a mad torrent of reporter's voices and blinding flashes. Alex used one hand to shield her eyes from the cameras, the other to cling to John, who seemed to be taking charge of both her and Sherlock.

"Get in," he said to Sherlock, pointing to the other side of the car. "Alex, you first."

She climbed in one side, meeting Sherlock in the middle. John sat next to her, shutting the door. It was a relief when the car started to move, leaving behind the swirling mass of people on their doorstep.

"Remember–" John started.

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted.

"Remember–"

"Yes."

John looked out of the window in frustration.

"Sherlock," Alex said wearily. "Please."

"Remember what they told you: don't try to be clever," John said, taking advantage of Sherlock's momentary quiet.

"No."

"And _please, _just keep it simple and brief," John said.

"Emphasis on brief," Alex said.

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent," Sherlock muttered somewhat moodily.

"'Intelligent,' fine; let's give 'smart-arse' a wide berth," John said.

"I'll just be myself."

"Are you listening to me?!"

* * *

><p>Alex tried to concentrate on the book in her hands, tapping her foot restlessly on the marble floor of the waiting area.<p>

"You okay?" John asked from his spot beside her on the bench.

"Fine," she reassured him.

"Sure? Because you've been reading that page for," he checked his watch. "Seventeen minutes now."

"It's a good page," Alex replied, making him smile in amusement. "True, I should really just put it away."

"Yeah, don't get too into it or you won't want to go into the courtroom."

Alex grinned, storing the book in her bag and standing up, "You mind if I go for a walk?"

"Course not, just be here in fifteen minutes."

Alex nodded and started to walk, not at all sure where she was going. She made sure to keep a note of the turns she made though, so she could easily find her way back. She no doubt looked odd, someone her age and her semi-celebrity status walking alone through the corridors. She got a few strange looks and heard a few hushed 'that girl looks familiar's whispered between co-workers. But no one spoke to her until she did.

The first Alex knew of her arrival was the rapid clicking of heels behind her. The speed of the clicking made Alex turn, and a bright smile erupted on the woman advancing towards her's face.

"Alex Holmes, I thought it was you. You're here for the James Moriarty case, right?" she asked, obviously knowing the answer.

"Yes," she held out her hand. "You clearly know my name so I won't bother introducing myself."

_Ah, Mycroft would be proud._

The woman shook her outstretched hand, her grasp firm but not entirely friendly.

"I'm Kitty Reilly."

"Kitty Reilly… I seem to remember that name…"

"You hit me in the face with a car door a few months ago."

Alex blushed heavily, "Oh, it's you! I'm so sorry, honestly. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"The bleeding stopped eventually," Kitty said, smile a tad colder than earlier.

"Sorry. What can I do for you?"

Kitty rummaged in the bag strapped to her shoulder, "I was wondering if you could give me an interview."

"Well, I don't really have a lot of time–"

Kitty retrieved a voice recorder from the bag, "Just a statement will do."

"I don't usually do this without my uncle," Alex said uncomfortably. "I could come and find you after the court case and we could both… No?"

Kitty grimaced, "I don't think your uncle really likes me."

Alex frowned, "You've already met him?"

"Yes. It wasn't pleasant. He told me I repelled him and left me in the men's bathroom."

"Okay, I probably won't be able to talk to you then," Alex said, starting to walk away. "I'm sorry again about the car door."

Kitty's heels clopped again as she hurried to catch up to Alex, still clutching her voice recorder, "Just because Sherlock doesn't want to speak with me, doesn't mean you're not allowed to. You're seventeen now, right? It was your birthday a couple of weeks ago. Surely you can make up your own mind."

"You don't want to talk about me, you want to talk about Sherlock, and it isn't fair for me to go spilling his secrets if that's not what he wants," Alex said, quickening her pace. "I'm sorry but I really have to get back now."

"Secrets? He has a lot of secrets, does he?" Kitty asked, eyes shining hungrily.

"Doesn't everyone?" Alex, realising that probably wasn't the best thing to say, backtracked. "I don't want to violate his privacy."

"Fine, we won't talk about him, let's talk about you."

"I'm not in a sharing mood."

"You've been living with Sherlock now for how long? Ten years?"

Alex rounded the corner and was able to see John stood beside Sherlock. They were facing away from her, John seemingly giving Sherlock more advice before they entered the courtroom.

Alex stopped, trying to get rid of Kitty before Sherlock saw her and caused a scene.

"I really can't talk, okay? Try again another day."

"Is it true your mother killed herself while you were sleeping upstairs? How did that make you feel?"

"How did you know–?" Alex stopped, her eyes drawn to the little red light shining from the top of the voice recorder. "You're recording this."

Kitty didn't even flinch, "Is that a 'no comment?'"

"Definitely," Alex said coldly, and turned away, hurrying over to Sherlock and John.

They turned as she slotted between the two of them, eyes narrowed in anger.

"What's wrong with you?" Sherlock asked.

Alex was about to speak when Kitty turned from the corner Alex had left her in, and headed for the main door onto the street, where the press waited eagerly. She cast a look over to Alex.

"Nice speaking to you," she said, and left.

Sherlock turned to Alex accusingly, "You gave her an interview?"

"It was very one-sided. She asked me personal questions and I didn't answer them," Alex said.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder to the door she had passed through, "She'll be talking to the journalists outside. They're like sharks. No doubt she'll come back and be watching the case."

"As long as she sits away from us," Alex muttered.

"She'd better be quick if she doesn't want to miss it," John said. "We need to go in now."

Alex turned to Sherlock, "Good luck."

"I don't need it."

"Arrogant. Avoid that," John said. "You'll be fine."

"I know I will be," Sherlock said confusedly. "Why are you making such a fuss?"

"Okay, okay," John said. "Come on, Alex."

Alex took a deep breath and followed him to the entrance to the public gallery, sending Sherlock a small wave as he peeled off to go to the other entrance to the courtroom. She and John chose their seats and sat. It was another five minutes before everything was in order, and it began.

It was at that point that the nervousness really hit Alex. The fact she was actually going to see him, to have to look at him suddenly became clear, and the familiar pulsing vein of dread ran through her. She glanced at John, saw the clench of his jaw, and knew he was feeling the same thing – Moriarty had almost blown him up last time they met.

Alex missed the exact moment he walked in, having been looking down at her sleeve. She held back a gasp as she caught sight of the back of his head standing facing the judge, facing away from them. Thank God.

For a few minutes – Alex didn't know how many – the judge and prosecutor droned on, and Alex drowned them out, her focus solely centred on the back of that head. She saw the slight movement of his jaw, like he was mouthing something. No, chewing something. Chewing gum. Alex shook her head with a silent scoff.

"And now we call our expert witness, Mr Sherlock Holmes."

Alex sat up straighter, exchanging an apprehensive smile with John. He seemed just as nervous as she was.

"Just get up, say what you have to and leave," Alex murmured.

John blew out a quiet breath, "If only."

Sherlock was led into the courtroom from the adjoining waiting area for witnesses, as they aren't allowed to observe the trial before they stand to give their evidence. He was shown up to the witness box, where he swore that he would tell the truth, and locked eyes with Moriarty. Alex swallowed. She could only imagine what Moriarty's facial expression was. Imagining it was worse than actually seeing it.

Alex tried to catch Sherlock's eye and give him a reassuring thumbs-up, but he didn't look at her.

"A 'consulting criminal'," the prosecuting barrister said.

"Yes."

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire," Sherlock said.

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating?"

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler."

There was a ripple of quiet laughter around the court but both Alex and John cringed. He was sounding bored already. That was a very, very bad sign.

"Would you describe him as–"

"Leading," Sherlock interrupted.

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness," Sherlock nodded to the defending barrister. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

"Here we go," Alex mumbled.

"Mr Holmes," the judge said in exasperation.

Alex leaned over to John, "Sherlock gave evidence for him a few years ago."

"What happened?"

"I stayed at Mycroft's for a few days, pretty sure he got arrested for slander."

John shook his head, returning back to observing the scene.

"Ask me how," Sherlock continued, reminding Alex of when he used to teach her. "_How_ would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?"

"Mr Holmes, we're fine without your help," the judge said.

To Alex's left, the door opened. She wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't heard the familiar click of too-high heels on the laminate flooring. Kitty Reilly took her seat in front of Alex and John, casting them a self-important smile over her shoulder at them. Alex felt a strong urge to push her over the bannister to the docks below. Probably not a great idea in a room full of prosecutors and law-nuts.

"_How_ would you describe this man – his character?" the prosecutor said, resigning to Sherlock's will.

"First mistake. James Moriarty isn't a man at all – he's a spider; a spider at the centre of a web – a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Alex watched Moriarty's head bob once and Kitty Reilly suddenly seemed as unimportant as a papercut.

"And how long - ?" the prosecutor began.

"No, no, don't-don't do that. That's really not a good question," Sherlock said with a wince.

"Mr Holmes," the judge warned.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I thought we had a special something."

"This is bad," John said.

Alex agreed.

Sherlock had also told her that he wouldn't be mentioning her connection to Moriarty, so wouldn't speak about everything he had done to her, or she'd be called as a witness, something he felt wasn't necessary. So everything that had happened in between the titled 'Great Game' was to stay between them.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?" the judge asked incredulously.

"Two minutes would have made me an expert, five was ample."

"Mr Holmes, that's a matter for the jury."

"Oh really?"

Finally meeting Alex's eye, she and John shook their heads at him, Alex making a cut-throat gesture.

He, of course, ignored them, and cast his eyes to the jury.

"One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressured jobs, probably the City. The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand," he said, his deducing as effortless as ever.

"Mr Holmes!"

"Seven are married and two are having an affair – with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits. Would you like to know who ate the wafer?" he asked the judge.

The judge's cheeks wobbled angrily as he spoke, "Mr Holmes. You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess. Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes _without showing off_?"

"Oh no," Alex said.

Sherlock took an intake of breath, and at that point, both she and John knew it was all over. Sherlock didn't leave that courtroom of his own volition.

* * *

><p>"What did I say? I said, 'Don't get clever'," John said, leaning against the desk as Sherlock got his property back, having been released.<p>

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap," Sherlock grumbled.

"A congratulations is in order, though. What's this, your fifteenth time arrested?"

He took his phone and wallet from the polythene bag they had been kept in and led the way to the exit.

"Eighteenth, but that's beside the point. You two were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish, tell me what happened."

"Just as you said it would be. Barrister sat on his backside, never even stirred."

"The only one doing any stirring was Kitty Reilly. I say we put her and Moriarty in a room and see which one kills the other first," Alex said. "Or better still just assassinate them both."

Behind her, the policeman behind the desk cleared his throat.

"Word of advice, don't threaten to commit murder in front of these people. They don't take to it kindly," Sherlock said.

"Learnt our lesson then, Mr Holmes," the policeman called.

Sherlock scowled at him as Alex raised her eyebrows accusingly.

"You threatened to murder someone?"

"It was an example. Apparently most people aren't educated enough to distinguish between a threat and an _example, _are they Graham?" Sherlock threw over his shoulder.

"It's Garrett!" was the shout just as they shut the door behind them.

"What is it with you and people's names that begin with 'G'? You have a serious problem."

"It's a good job your mother didn't name you after Aunty Gertrude, then. That was her first choice."

Alex stopped as Sherlock and John carried on walking to the cab.

"Mum was _not _going to call me Gertrude," Alex said.

Sherlock remained silent as he got in the back of the cab, next to John. Alex followed them, shaking her head.

"No, no way. She wouldn't call me something so ridiculous."

"Hello, calling _Alessandra Maybelline," _John said.

"Ha-ha, very funny. Don't be so cruel. Just because your parents loved you enough to give you a normal name doesn't mean you can mock mine."

"It isn't as bad as Sherlock and Mycroft," John consoled.

Alex looked up at her uncle, who looked vaguely offended, then back at John.

"True."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: Hanna, FlewandFlied, RainbowSilenced, shnuffeluv, POTC misty potter temple, Loyal Elf, emilybrock101, TheCurlyGal6218, toffeshop, taiannie (I hope you're okay now!), Kelsey W (I'll change that now, thanks!), kuppcake, and i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B for reviewing!<strong>

**As you can see, not really into the heavy stuff just yet, and Alex is taking this pretty well all things considering. Who thinks she's going to keep that up? ... Yeah me neither.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Stay positive,**

**Have a great day,**

**Abby**

**x**


	109. The Reichenbach Fall - Part 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, exams are kicking my butt. I have a history one tomorrow and then a drama one on Wednesday so as soon as I get this week out of the way I can relax (except for German controlled assessments but I'm choosing to pretend that doesn't exist).**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"Hello, calling Alessandra Maybelline," John said._

_"Ha-ha, very funny. Don't be so cruel. Just because your parents loved you enough to give you a normal name doesn't mean you can mock mine."_

_"It isn't as bad as Sherlock and Mycroft," John consoled._

_Alex looked up at her uncle, who looked vaguely offended._

_"True."_

On the way back to Baker Street, the good humour had dissipated as they each had time, and silence, to fully digest what had just happened. It was in those few minutes that Alex really processed what Moriarty had done, and began to really see the implications of what was happening. It had just suddenly hit her, making a bolt of fear jolt through her body. It wasn't noticeable at a glance, but it showed in her eyes, which she kept averted to the droplets clinging to the taxi window.

Upon arriving, Mrs Hudson had opened the door for them, asking how it went. John motioned to his flatmates that he would explain, and Alex and Sherlock proceeded up to the flat. Sherlock went straight to his chair, and Alex to the window to close the curtains. She then turned on all of the lamps and perched on the edge of the sofa.

"This is bad, isn't it," Alex said.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, voice distant and disjointed, the voice he used when he was deep in thought but still conscious of conversation.

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Is it overdramatic to say eleven?"

"A little but that's never stopped you before… It's gonna be okay," she said with a forced air of confidence.

"I admire your optimism."

"I resent your pessimism."

"Because you know I'm right?"

"Yes," Alex allowed herself to sink further into sofa cushion. "I hope you have a plan, Sherlock, because I–"

Alex stopped mid-sentence as John opened the door, closed it behind him, and threw his coat on the desk before dropping into his armchair with an exhausted sigh.

"Mrs Hudson has questions I don't have answers to. I'm hoping you do, for my sake at least," John said to Sherlock.

He stared at him when he didn't respond, "Let's recap shall we? Bank of England, Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why. All we know is–"

"He ends up in custody," Sherlock said, rising from his chair to pace. He trailed off in thought.

John sighed, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"The Look."

"Look?"

"You're doing The Look again."

"Well I can't see it can I?"

Alex pointed to the mirror above the fireplace, "You _are _doing it. I've just become desensitised to it."

"It's my face," Sherlock said, throwing up his hands in confusion.

"Yes, and it's doing a thing. You're doing a 'we all know what's really going on here' face," John said.

"Well we do!"

"No, _we _don't, which is why we find _The Face_ so annoying."

Sherlock pursed his lips, "If Moriarty wanted the Jewels, he'd have them. If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets. The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he _chose_ to be there. Somehow this is all part of his scheme."

John looked at Alex, who returned his concerned gaze with an exaggerated sigh. He raised his eyebrows in agreement and shook his head.

"I can't believe this is happening again," he muttered, getting to his feet. "I'm going to bed, I can't deal with this right now."

"'Night, John," Alex said, then stood up and turned to Sherlock as John left to his bedroom. "I might as well go too, I'm no use here."

Sherlock gave no reply.

"Hey," she tapped his shoulder, forcing him to acknowledge her. "You do have a plan, don't you? You know what we're going to do."

"I don't always have a plan."

"Of course you do."

"No, not always," he said quietly. "Not always one that you'll like."

Alex ignored the painful twang in her chest at that, "I suppose I should have grown out of that by now."

"What?"

"Thinking you have the answers to everything. I'm sorry," she said with a sad smile. "See you in the morning. We'll work it out then, yeah?"

He went to reply, then seemed to stop himself, and merely nodded instead. Alex debated pressing him for more, but decided against it, and went to bed.

She slept fitfully, jerking awake from nightmare after nightmare. The only consolation was that she was never one to scream or shout in her sleep, just a sharp intake of breath upon awakening. She counted herself lucky for that, waking up the boys wouldn't do. They had much bigger things to worry about than her, and she had much bigger things to worry about than them. She had to worry _about _them.

The morning somehow arrived too quickly, yet too slowly for Alex's liking. Tossing and turning does little for hurrying up the clock, but dread is an awful accelerant.

Alex pulled on the creased shirt from yesterday – forgetting about the new one in her wardrobe – and wrestled into a black skirt. She tucked her blouse in with one hand, and pulled her hair into a sloppy bun with the other as she hurried down the stairs. The moment she emerged into the living room, John handed her a slice of buttered toast and turned her around, heading to the door.

"Wait, isn't Sherlock coming?" she asked, flustered.

"He isn't allowed, remember? Hurry up before the press get here," John said, pushing her out of the door.

Alex popped her head around the doorjamb, "Bye, Sherlock."

"Have fun," he said dryly back to her.

"Right, come on," John said, closing the door. "We'll keep you up to date, Sherlock!"

* * *

><p>Perhaps it was John's pace that kept her from freaking out, not giving her time to think about things. If it was, she was wholeheartedly grateful. They had barely sat down when the court proceedings began, and even then John kept whispering to her, asking her questions he clearly knew the answers to but waiting for an answer anyway. Distracting techniques, Alex knew. Probably something he had learnt in Afghanistan. Once he had exhausted relevant questions, he started asking her to deduce the people around them.<p>

Alex was better than she used to be at deducing, but still nowhere near her uncles' standards. She managed to get by on most of them on half-truths and fabrications, but there was an undertone of logic to some.

"She's just broke up with her husband, see the tan line on her finger? Probably after they came back from holidaying over the summer. He's left her with kids, under 6 definitely…" Alex trailed off.

Her eyes strayed to the back of Moriarty's head. Her finger tapped restlessly. She hadn't been listening to what the judge was saying, or the prosecutor – Sherlock had gone over what would be said so many times. But the defence attorney had just been called, hadn't he?

"They did say the defence, right?" Alex whispered.

John nodded, forgetting about Alex for now and fully invested in what the silent man had to say.

The barrister stood, "Your Honour, we're not calling any witnesses."

Alex blinked.

"I don't follow. You've entered a plea of Not Guilty," the judge said, looking every bit as confused as Alex.

"Nevertheless, my client is offering no evidence. The defence… rests," he finished regretfully, and returned to his seat.

A shocked murmur rippled through the courtroom, and Alex and John exchanged bewildered looks. Alex was about to whisper something to him when movement down in the dock caught her eye. Moriarty was turning, bringing his chin to rest just above his shoulder and fixing Alex with a smirking stare. Their eyes met, and every memory of every time he had looked at her flooded Alex's mind. She tried to muster up the energy to glare back, but her body wouldn't react. It seemed stuck, only her increased breathing working as it should. Or perhaps overworking. Those eyes. That smile. Her head pounded. Or was that her heart? Every beat, a thrum, thrum, thrum.

John pulled her shoulder, turning her to face him, "Don't look at him."

"I-I," Alex stuttered, aware of the stares of people around them. She blew out a subtle breath to compose herself – at least look like it, anyway. She slipped her hand into her bag and retrieved two paracetamol tablets, then swallowed them. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

When John let go of her shoulder, she turned to see James was no longer looking at her. Small mercies. He was concentrating on the judge. Alex supposed she should do the same.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which – if he's found guilty – will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You _must_ find him guilty," the judge said.

And with that, the court adjourned. The second people began to move, Alex sprang from her seat and walked as fast as she could without garnering too much attention, to the corridor outside. She turned the corner away from the toilets where everyone was headed, and placed her hands against the wall, leaning forward and bowing her head, taking in deep breaths. Her hair had slipped out of the bun, her black curls dangling beside her face. She stayed like that for some minutes, just trying to loosen the tightness in her chest.

"Alex," John said, spotting her and walking over. He must have been looking for her. "You want to go home?"

"No," she said. "Definitely not. I can stick it out until the verdict."

"Really?"

She licked her lips, "Seeing him like that again. Him seeing me. I just… I just want this to be over, John."

His face softened at her desperate tone, "We all do. And it will be. There's no way even _he _can walk away from this one."

Alex nodded, not really believing him. She looked past his head, a throng of people in black capes catching her attention.

"Umm, I think people are going back in."

John checked his watch, "It's been six minutes."

"Are you really surprised it took them that long?"

"Must have been a queue for the loo," John said. "You ready?"

Alex dipped into her bag and took another painkiller, hoping it would take the edge of her headache.

"Didn't you just take two not ten minutes ago?" John asked.

Alex shuffled sheepishly, "You're not going to lecture me today are you?"

"No, I'll leave that until tomorrow. Just don't take any more for another four hours."

"If it isn't gone in four hours, I'll be taking a bullet," she joked.

John gave her a small smile of amusement as they re-entered the court, but neither of them really found it funny.

As soon as everyone had settled themselves in their seats, the Clerk rose, turning to the jury.

"Have you reached a verdict of which you all agree?" he asked.

Alex watched the faces of several jury members, frowning at their expressions. They seemed… ashamed. The foreman stood slowly, stoic apart from the slight watering of her eyes. Her mouth parted to speak, then closed again. She paused. Someone behind her cleared his throat. More shuffled in their seats.

"What's going on?" Alex whispered.

"Your verdict?" the judge asked impatiently.

Finally, the woman spoke, "Not guilty."

"WHAT?!" Alex shouted, forgetting where she was.

Those around her were too shocked to react as she stood up, outraged.

"_What?! _He offered _no _defence!" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about, you stupid woman?!"

The foreman glanced away, dabbing at her eyes. None of the other jury members managed to actually maintain eye contact with anyone in the court.

"You're making a scene!" James drawled, without turning to her, his tone amused.

His voice stoked the fire inside her, and she shifted her attention to the judge imploringly, "You can't do this! He's guilty! There has never been a guiltier person in that stand!"

John tugged at her sleeve, gradually breaking out of his stupor.

"Miss Holmes, please control yourself," the judge replied, but it was said without conviction.

"You know I'm right! Open your eyes! Can't you see what's happening?!"

James's defence barrister took this time to pipe up, "The jury has given their verdict."

"Oh are you another one he has in his pocket? You pathetic LITTLE MAN!"

The judge shook his head, whether at Alex's antics or to try and comprehend exactly what was happening.

"He is right. The jury's word is–"

_"ARE YOU REALLY THAT STUPID?!"_

"Miss Holmes, that's enough!"

Alex scoffed, "This is a joke. An absolute joke. You know what, when you let him go and he kills a whole horde of innocent people, it's on you."

She glared at the jury, the judge, and when James spun around to grin at her, she shook her head in disbelief, and turned away. She made sure to slam the door, hard, behind her. She had no doubt John was going to follow, but she quickened her pace until she was out of the building and by the roadside. She had gone the back way, where no press were lingering.

It didn't take her long to find an alley, ten minutes' walk, and when she did, she bit down on her hand and screamed as loud as she could. She could feel the beginnings of tears but managed to force them back. Yesterday's mascara would smudge.

Her phone bleeped.

**Where are you? – JW**

She debated texting him back but every second she was holding her phone was a second more she wanted to throw it against the wall.

**Storming out of court? How mature – MH**

At that, she lifted her arm back, ready to aim a throw at the bricks of the building she was sandwiched against, but she didn't.

It was the next text that made her follow through.

**Well wasn't that fun? I'll catch up with you when I have chance, got a lot to sort out. See you soon! – Dad x**

The screen shattered on impact, sending glass raining down into the gravel. She then kicked the screenless carcass of the phone, bouncing it once again off the wall. Her nose was running, and she wiped it on the back of her hand. It came back red.

"Nosebleed, seriously?" she mumbled, holding her other hand underneath.

It wasn't heavy, and stopped after a few seconds. Looking down, she realised that she had not caught the blood quick enough for a few spots not to stain her white shirt.

"Argh, what's even the _point?!" _she yelled, kicking the phone one more time.

Her sudden yell made the pain in her head triple. She closed her eyes and steadied herself on the wall, letting the sensation rush over her. It began to subside, and gradually returned to a bearable level. Several deep breaths later, her heart had stopped pounding so fast and the anger that had erupted was now loosely caged again, out of sight.

She stooped down, making sure to keep her head level, to pick up her broken phone, half of it spilling onto the floor, until she was essentially left with a shell. She stored it in her bag nonetheless.

Spotting a café across the road, Alex headed straight to their bathroom and scrubbed the blood from her hands, splashing water on her face, and trying to remove the stain from her shirt. It didn't work.

Giving up with a sigh of frustration, Alex left the toilets and stood, startled, in front of John.

"A woman saw you come in here," he said before she could ask. "Come on."

She followed him out and waited beside him as he hailed a cab. They stood in silence.

He didn't ask if she was okay. She didn't thank him for it. They'd been around each other long enough for that to pass unsaid.

* * *

><p>The moment Alex approached the door to 221B, she knew something was wrong. The door was open. Sherlock never left the door open.<p>

"John, stay here," Alex said lowly.

"Whoa, whoa, I'm meant to say that to you."

"Stay here and you won't be an accessory to murder."

She dropped her bag on the pavement and headed up the steps, then up the stairs. She wasn't quiet, not avoiding the creaky floorboard, as she swung open the living room door.

There he was, standing in front of Sherlock. His face suddenly morphed from a serious, murderous glower, to a beam. He held out his arms.

"Alex! How lovely you could join us!"

"Alex, go upstairs," Sherlock said, without feeling.

"Don't be such a spoil sport, Uncle Sherlock, she's come to see–"

His sentence was cut short, as Alex's fist pounded his face. His head snapped to the side and he put a hand to his mouth, flexing his jaw. Sherlock tugged her back by her sleeve with a roll of his eyes.

"You _stupid, psychopathic – !" _

"No better than last time, unfortunately," he said, shaking his head and turning to Sherlock. "Didn't you teach her how to punch?"

"You son of a–" she lunged forwards again, but Sherlock pulled her back with one hand again, effortlessly.

"That's enough."

"No, how _dare _he–"

"How dare I what?" James asked. "See my own daughter?"

"I'm as much your daughter as Sherlock is!"

"No he's my brother-in-law."

Alex wrestled against Sherlock's hold. He held her back.

"Go upstairs," he told her.

"No! I want him out!" she spat.

James raised his hands, "You're very ungrateful, aren't you?"

"OUT!"

"Okay, okay," he relented. "I'm going. Can you just call off your guard dog?"

Alex turned to see John stood by the door, arms folded, and the scariest expression she had ever seen on his face directed at her father.

"Heel boy, heel," James mocked.

"He'll shoot you," Sherlock said, bored.

"Starting with your feet," John added.

"I'm not sure I want my child growing up in such a violent household, but that's an issue for another day."

"Get. Out."

He paused, looking at her in thought for a moment, then gave her another smile, "As you wish."

John stepped aside.

Just as James was about to descend the stairs, he locked eyes with Sherlock. Something seemed to pass between them. Alex watched the exchange warily. Then, his gaze shifted to her, and gave her a half-smirk.

Then he was gone.

Sherlock didn't let go of her until the front door closed.

Alex wheeled on him, "What did he say?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said, bending down to pick up the tray of used teacups.

"No, not nothing. Tell me!" she demanded.

"It's private."

"There's nothing private between us! Not when it comes to him!" Alex raised her voice as he went to put the cups in the sink.

"Leave it, Alex."

Alex was about to retaliate when something on the table caught her eye. An apple. John didn't like apples, so they never bought them. Frowning, she picked it up and saw the letter carved into it, the O being made by a single bite. She had no doubt whom the bite was from.

"What's this?" she said, walking to the kitchen and thrusting it in her uncle's face. "What does this mean?"

He took it out of her hands, "I was peckish and feeling artsy."

"Sherlock!" she snapped. "For God's sake!"

"Okay," John interrupted, coming between the two with his hands outstretched to both of them. "We all need to calm down."

"I am perfectly calm," Sherlock said.

"You want a punch too?"

"I don't think your knuckles can take it."

"Well we can easily test that hypothesis, can't we."

"Right!" John interjected. "Calm. Now. Alex, I'm talking to you."

"You don't think I have good reason not to be calm?" she took one look at the expression on John's face and sighed, forcing herself to come back down to earth. "Fine."

"I know you're scared, and I know this is hard," John continued, ever the mediator. "But you can't let it get to you. You concentrate on that and let Sherlock concentrate on Moriarty."

Alex paused, staring at Sherlock. He stared back evenly. Eventually, she relented.

"Fine," she said, and pointed a finger in Sherlock's direction. "But you better know what you're doing, Sherlock Holmes. I don't want one of us ending up in another funhouse."

"That won't happen," he said.

"Don't tell me that. I don't trust words anymore, just do it," she took her bag from John's arm. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Where's yours?" John asked.

"Broke it."

"I bought a scratch repair kit from the pound shop the other day, maybe I could…" he trailed off as Alex handed him the remains of her mobile. "No, that's definitely gone. Jesus, what did you do to it?"

"Dropped it."

"In front of a speeding bus?" Sherlock said.

"Catch up, that was so five phones ago."

John handed her his, and she sent a quick text to Mycroft making sure he was bumping up security around April, before handing it back and retreating to her bedroom.

She felt so angry. Every inch of her skin prickled with heat, muscles clenched into a spasm. She picked up her pillow and squashed it in her hands over and over until some of the tension began to leave. She then threw it back on her bed and sat at her desk, running her hand through her hair. It was greasy; she hadn't washed it in days. She didn't feel like doing it any time soon.

Her eyes lifted to the mirror on the wall above the desk, and to the birthday cards tucked inside the frame. Logan's.

She sighed, a whole new wave of anxiety flooding her. She put her head on her folded arms.

Logan.

Did he know? Surely he would be reading the papers. He said he would write, but she hadn't gotten anything since her birthday. He would have written to her at least to tell her he was okay when all this kicked off, right? So if he didn't write, it was because they had already got to him and Helen. No. That wasn't right. James wouldn't keep quiet about that. And they wouldn't even know where they were.

But what then? What could possibly stop him from sending a simple letter? It only needed to be three words WE ARE OKAY. That wasn't too much to ask.

She just wished he was here. Both of them. She wished he was laid on her bed, reading a book, Helen sat on her window sill listening to music, April painting on the floor. Safe, all of them. All the people in danger because of her. The precious few that James hadn't taken away from her.

A light knock made her lift her head from her arms.

"Come in."

John opened the door, holding a tray with a sandwich and a mug of tea on.

"Room service," he said, putting the tray down.

She smiled at him, "I'm sorry for snapping earlier. I'm just…"

"I know," he said. "It was a good punch though."

Alex shook her head, amused, "It wasn't. I never really get it right. Hurts me more than him."

"Done it before?"

"Few times. Usually goes the same way. He rubs his face to boost my ego a bit then laughs and tells me I hit like I girl while I'm trying not to cry because my hand hurts so badly," she said with a smile. "I was good when I was a kid. I beat up this older boy who used to bully Logan when I was about eight. Made him eat a load of chillies. After that, Mycroft forbade Sherlock from teaching me anything remotely violent so I kind of lost the knack."

"Let's see your hand."

She pulled her sleeve back and John winced.

"Yeah that's going to bruise quite nicely."

"Will his face?" she asked hopefully.

He grimaced, "Didn't look like it."

"Damn it."

John frowned, "You've got blood on your shirt."

Alex looked down in confusion, then remembered, "Oh yeah, I got a nosebleed. Must be the cold season."

"Hmm. You still got that headache?"

"I've kind of forgotten about it now."

"It's still there though?"

"I suppose."

John pressed his lips together, "Don't take anymore tablets, just try to sleep it off."

"I don't think I can sleep now, John."

"The tea will help. Or there's some green tea I could get–"

"Honestly it's fine. Thank you, though."

"Okay," he paused for a moment, then headed back to the door. "Make sure you eat and drink that."

"I will. Thanks, John."

He closed her bedroom door with a smile and Alex thought, for what must have been the hundred-and-something-th time how grateful she was to him. She was no relation of hers, yet he treated her so kindly and caringly – which she hoped she echoed unto him – when there was no reason he should. She wondered if if she had been John's niece, would Sherlock be the same around her as John was now? Probably not.

He really was just what she and Sherlock needed. It was a relief to know it wasn't just her that was trying to stop him being ridiculous and heroic. John took up that job from the moment he followed them out of the door that night with the cabbie murders, and he had done marvellously so far.

Yes. There was no need to worry about Sherlock, or any of her friends, at least not to the extent she was. Her uncle had friends, no matter what he said. John would do anything for him, Lestrade would help him in any way he could, Molly was there if he ever needed her, Mrs Hudson would always be there to make the tea and make dark situations lighter, and Mycroft would… well, he'd do what he always did, whatever that was.

Together, they were more than a match for James, she knew. Only then did she feel that she could relax, and her headache – which had tried to be dulled by numerous painkillers – finally faded.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock," John said, making sure to close the door quietly behind him.<p>

"Hmm?"

"Go easy on Alex," he sat down in his chair. "She's not coping well with this."

"I'd noticed."

"_Sherlock. _The way you're handling this isn't making it any easier for her."

"And how do you propose I improve?" it was clear by his tone that he was just humouring John, making the older man narrow his eyes.

"Be open with her," he said. "All this secrecy is just worrying her. Keep going like this and she'll get sick."

"Maybe her being scared is a good thing. There's a reason why people are afraid of heights."

John groaned in frustration, "Look, I know you aren't going to listen to anything I'm saying but just try to make an effort to be reassuring, okay? Alex likes to make out that she's tough but she isn't, at least not all the time. She's sensitive. I don't need to tell you that."

Sherlock remained impassive.

"Sherlock."

He sipped his tea.

"Oh for goodness sake," John muttered, pulling on his coat. "I'm going out. I'm meant to be meeting up with Greg in the pub."

Sherlock gave no acknowledgement as his friend left, though he did lower his teacup. He glanced up at the ceiling, where he knew Alex would be sat, and closed his eyes. There were times when he thought that his sister leaving him her child was an honour, one of the best things to happen to him - she was a great distraction. But other times, he saw what a curse it was. What he was going to do wasn't something a parent was supposed to do to their child. What would his sister think?

_She did exactly the same, _a voice said.

"But she never came back," he mumbled inaudibly.

_Neither might you._

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not making this easier, am I?<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, POTC misty potter temple, shnuffeluv, emilybrock101, Rainbow Silenced, Lizzy f, and Lisa Halette for reviewing!**

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**The next update should be on Sunday as usual.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	110. The Reichenbach Fall - Part 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait again but the last few weeks have been ****_so _****busy. To make up for it, this is double the usual length. I hope you all had a nice Christmas :). This is the second from last chapter of TRF and... I'm sorry. That's all I can say. Things are not going to be good. The next chapter will be where... well, we all know what will happen in that one, and it will be updated at the latest this time next week.**

**This story is now over 400,000 words now. Wow.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_Sherlock gave no acknowledgement as his friend left, though he did lower his teacup. He glanced up at the ceiling, where he knew Alex would be sat, and closed his eyes. There were times when he thought that his sister leaving him her child was an honour, one of the best things to happen to him - she was a great distraction. But other times, he saw what a curse it was. What he was going to do wasn't something a parent was supposed to do to their child. What would his sister think? _

_She did exactly the same, _a voice said.

"But she never came back," he mumbled inaudibly.

_Neither could you._

Two months. Two months and nothing. Christmas had come and gone again without fuss - Alex didn't feel like putting the decorations up - not even seeming like a year since last Christmas. The press coverage of James's movements and actions and 'how ever was he acquitted?'s' died down as another scandal took its place.

Alex, though glad of his silence, was far from comforted by it. He had to be doing something with his time, and whatever that was, it didn't spell good news for the general population, and spelt even worse news for her family.

In a much kinder turn of events, Logan had finally written to her. As soon as she had gotten the letter, she immediately thought something terrible had happened, that he was writing to say goodbye or say that Helen had been taken, or he had, or that they were in trouble. However, once she tore open the envelope, she saw that the note wasn't delivering bad news.

_Anya! _

_I'm so sorry I couldn't write earlier, it wasn't safe and I couldn't risk H. She's safe now though so all is A-OK. I hope you are okay, I know this can't be easy for you. It's just as hard for me, remember that. I'm in the same position as you. If there's anyone who understands me, it's you (and vice versa). I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry for making you think about all this if you had somehow managed to forget about it. I'm trying not to think of anything to be honest. I'm not thinking about what I'm doing it all. It just makes it easier, you know? I'm sorry for rambling, this was meant to be short. _

_I'm sorry I couldn't call on Christmas. I was planning to but I got some impromptu guests. Guess I'm really starting to fit in around here no matter how much I don't really want to. H didn't mind though, she was asleep through all of it. I think she wanted to speak to you too. If you get a call from her, it'd be a lifesaver if you could talk to her. Even meet up maybe. It'd be an absolute lifesaver, I'm losing my mind a little here. _

_I said this was meant to be short way too many words ago. Sorry. _

_Hopefully we can see each other soon. Maybe. I don't know under which circumstances but I hope we can get through this._

_Love,_

_Mowgli_

_X_

Alex rolled her eyes at his apologies. He needed to forgive himself. She had forgiven him a long time ago. Nevertheless, she read through the note a few more times and then placed it with the rest of them in the frame of her mirror.

Hearing from him was another weight from her mind and eventually, she managed to get back to some form of normality. Moriarty was always a lingering thought brewing in every crevice of the flat, but as time went on, it got slightly easier to ignore.

Again, as late January brought a deep freeze, the heating in the flat was out. That was why John, arriving home from his (unsuccessful) date, wasn't at all fazed to see Alex wearing three of his jumpers, Sherlock's scarf, and her duvet.

"I'm... freezing," she said hoarsely.

"It's warmer outside," John said, going to get another one of his jumpers to put over the one he had on.

"It's just as well he has more jumpers than Jack Wills isn't it?" Alex said to Sherlock.

He grunted in reply from the kitchen, where he was hunched over his microscope. He was bundled in his coat and spare scarf, and was wearing two pairs of pyjamas under that.

John returned from his bedroom, looking much bluer than he had done when he had first come in.

"This is ridiculous," he said. "Alex get your coat."

"I'm already wearing all of them."

"Shed a couple and come with me. I'm going to get a few electric heaters and I'll need a hand to carry them."

"Losing your touch, solider?" Sherlock mocked from the kitchen.

"Shut up," John said as Alex pulled off a few layers and swapped her slippers for shoes. He opened the door for them. "Enjoy your frostbite, Sherlock."

"I told you they cost more than that," Alex said.

John, disgruntled, ignored her and continued powering towards the cash machine.

"Fifty quid? _Fifty quid _for two tiny heaters? It'd be cheaper to just boil the kettle and stick my face over it."

Alex stifled a laugh, "Just let me pay for it."

"You're not spending your money on heaters. Oh great I bet this bloody thing won't work now," he grumbled, squinting at the screen of the cash machine. "Oh look! There it is!"

Alex looked at the screen, where the words 'There is a problem with your card. Please wait.' were printed.

"Why don't we just go home and try again tomorrow?"

"Because if we go back to that flat without a heater, I'm pretty sure none of us will wake up in the morning."

The screen changed.

'Thank you for your patience.'

"You think it heard me?" Alex joked.

But then something was added on the end of the message: 'thank you for your patience, John.'

"What...?" John muttered, taking his card from the machine. "How did...?"

Alex understood, and sighed, "It's fine, John. We're just going on a trip."

"What are you talking about?"

Alex motioned to the black car cruising up the road towards them. John shook his head in exasperation.

"Why does he never just call?!"

John, angry at the sudden abduction, stormed ahead of her into the Diogenes Club, causing Alex to trip over the seatbelt in her rush to follow him. The driver laughed as she untangled herself, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and ran after him. Unfortunately, he had already started to speak by the time she got there.

"John," she whispered, tugging on his arm.

"No takers? Right. Am I invisible? Can you actually see me?" John raised his voice, turning to Alex. "Why won't they answer?"

"Because they don't," Alex stopped mid-whisper as she saw two men turn the corner into the room. "Listen, just go with it."

"Go with what?" John spotted the new arrivals. "Ah, thanks, gents. I've been asked to meet Mycroft Hol-"

Alex watched with a wince as he was seized by the arms, one of the men clamping a gloved hand over John's mouth as he writhed and yelled muffled protestations. The man not holding John's mouth cast a look at Alex, shook his head, then motioned for her to follow them.

"Hi, Eric," she said with a sigh, trailing behind them with an apologetic smile to the other inhabitants of the room - who all looked as if someone had just spat in their drinks.

They dragged John to Mycroft's office and forcefully threw him in. Not-Eric - a new one - turned to Alex, about to do the same to her, when Eric pulled his colleague back and whispered something in his ear. Not-Eric's eyes widened as he stepped back to let her in with a small bow of the head.

Alex decided to go against convention and held out her hand for him to shake, "Alex Holmes."

Not-Eric looked over to Mycroft in alarm, who simply rolled his eyes at his niece and turned to pour out some gin.

"Badal," he replied, shaking her hand briefly before following Eric out of the room.

"See you later!" she called after him.

"I wish you wouldn't get so personal with them," Mycroft said.

Alex shrugged and went to stand by John, who was looking around the room, seemingly in shock. He frowned at Mycroft.

"Care to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Alex, would you give us a few moments?"

"Where can I go?" she asked.

"Anywhere as long as you don't bother anyone in the main room."

"Hmm," she trailed off thoughtfully.

"Or I could find something for you to do myself."

"No need," she replied hastily, already backing out of the door. "Eric, Badal! Where'd you two go?! Either of you want to play cards?!"

"You're cheating!"

"No I'm not, you liar!"

"You definitely are."

"No, I'm just better than you. There's a difference."

"If your uncle wasn't Mycroft Holmes I would strangle you."

"Try me."

"Alright then!"

"Ah, sorry to interrupt," Eric said, taking out his phone. "Your uncle wants you now, Alex."

"Can't you tell him I'll be a few minutes?" she asked, staring up at Badal.

He glared back.

"Go on."

Alex muttered some profanity under her breath and picked up her bag from the floor before turning to the door.

"I'll get you next time."

As she walked around the other side of the wall, though the door, she heard Badal mumble about insolent teenagers, and Eric just laugh and say they could do a lot worse. She was happy with that, she decided, as she approached Mycroft's office.

"You called?" she said, popping her head around the door.

"Yes, come in."

John stood up, looking vaguely irritated, but somehow amused at the same time, "I'll wait in the car."

Once he left, Alex took the chair he had previously occupied and smiled, "So what's up?"

"I haven't seen you since the trial. I was wondering how you're coping."

"You're six weeks late for that, aren't you?" Alex said with a laugh.

Mycroft shrugged, "I'm a rather busy person."

"Yes you are. What were you talking to John about?"

"If you were to know that, I would have told you both together. I'm not a fan of repeating myself."

"I don't know, Sherlock seems to think you like the sound of your own voice enough not to mind," she teased. "Sorry."

Mycroft shook his head, "Though there is one aspect I wish to speak to you about."

"Hit me," Alex said. "Actually, leave that to Badal."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"He thinks I cheated at cards."

"Did you?"

"Yes but that's not the point," she brushed off. "What were you going to tell me?"

Mycroft reached over to the table beside him and retrieved several files, handing them over to Alex.

"Read those."

She opened the first one, a little confused, "Are you recruiting me for MI5?"

"Certainly not. My job's hard enough, thank you very much."

The first file held a picture of a rough-looking man, definitely not British. Alex got the distinct impression that he wasn't someone she wanted to meet with a dead phone on a dark night.

"Sulejmani. Albanian hit squad," Mycroft said.

Alex closed the file slowly and picked up the next one, "Okay..."

"Dyachenko, Ludmila."

"Wait I know her," Alex said, narrowing her eyes at the photograph of the woman.

"Really?" he didn't sound surprised.

"Yeah we talked while we were waiting for the bus. I remember her saying that she was staying in London over Christmas and I told her the best places to visit. Why is she in this file?"

"She's a killer."

Alex fell silent. She opened the next file. She recognised him, too.

"He lives two doors down from us. He was putting up Christmas lights last month. I thought they looked nice… Are they all killers?"

"Yes. And they all live around you."

Alex closed the files and handed them back, "Okay. What does this mean?"

"It means you have to be careful. I've told John to keep an eye on you both but it can't hurt for you to be aware of the danger."

"Do you know what they want?"

Mycroft paused, "We know that they have some connection to Moriarty, and that…"

"How hard is it for you to say 'I don't know'?"

He tilted his head at her, suddenly looking disturbed.

"Sorry," she apologised, not expecting that reaction. "I was joking."

Mycroft took a breath, "You just need to be careful. And hammer that into Sherlock's thick skull, even though it probably won't do any good."

Alex nodded, getting to her feet, "If that's everything?"

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm okay, how are you?" she replied chirpily.

"Alex."

"I'm coping."

"Well?"

"Yes," she said, choosing not to think about the days immediately following the trial. "Perfectly."

He seemed to buy it, and nodded in satisfaction, "Good. Just making sure you're prepared for whatever the next few weeks may bring."

"Hopefully nothing."

"Hopefully."

"See you, Mycroft."

"Goodbye, Alex."

She turned to walk to the door, "Oh, and tell Badal he owes twenty quid!"

* * *

><p>"You actually said that to him?" Alex laughed as they climbed out of the car outside the flat.<p>

John just laughed.

"Oh man, imagine Sherlock playing with Smurfs. Or even an Action Man."

"See, it doesn't seem right to you and you're their niece! Oh, what's this," he stooped down to pick up a letter left on the doorstep.

"Postmen are getting lazier. The box is right there."

It had no address on the front, and a large, red wax seal on the back.

"Is this my Hogwarts letter? I knew it was just late," Alex joked.

John grinned as he ripped the side of the envelope, tipping it sideways and holding out his hand for the letter within. But there was no letter. Instead, large chunks of brown stone or dust fell out, spilling through John's fingers and into the doorstep.

"What on Earth…?"

"'Scuse, darlin'," a voice said, and Alex stepped out of the way of a builder carrying some ladders through the door.

"Mrs Hudson must be having work done."

They looked back at the letter and exchanged bemused looks before heading up to the flat.

"Sherlock, this was on the – What's going on?"

Lestrade and Donovan stood by Sherlock, who was staring intently at his laptop screen.

"Kidnapping," Sherlock said.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S.," Lestrade said.

"He's in Washington, isn't he?"

"Not him – his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine. They're at St Aldate's."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Donovan elaborated.

"The school broke up; all the other boarders went home – just a few kids remained, including those two," Lestrade continued.

"The kids have vanished."

"The ambassador's asked for you personally," Lestrade said as Sherlock pulled on his coat and pushed past him to the door.

"Their Reichenbach Hero," Donovan said sarcastically.

Alex glared at her.

"Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity?"

* * *

><p>Gravel crunched underfoot as Alex followed her uncle, John, Donovan and Lestrade across the front entrance of the boarding school. Such an establishment made Alex a little self-conscious of the informal, worn clothes she was wearing. They were heading towards an elderly woman, who was sniffling into a tissue. She had an orange shock blanket around her shoulders and a friendly-faced policewoman was rubbing her back reassuringly.<p>

"Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress," Lestrade explained to Sherlock, turning to give him a pointed look. "Go _easy."_

He hung back with John, allowing Sherlock and Alex to walk up to her. Alex assumed they were going to go the gentle route with their questioning this time, given that the woman was in such a state.

"Miss Mackenzie," Alex started softly.

She was cut off by Sherlock, speaking quickly and brashly, "Miss Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?" he whipped the blanket from her shoulders. "Now quickly, tell me!"

Alex watched him, mouth agape.

Miss Mackenzie trembled in horror, "All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

"I do," Sherlock said, his tone suddenly softening. "I just wanted you to speak quickly."

Alex glanced over to John and Lestrade, who were watching the scene unfold, dumbfounded.

"Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now," Sherlock said to the nearby policewoman, and pressed on into the house.

Alex caught up to John and Lestrade as they followed him to the first floor bedroom.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you," John said. "You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in," Lestrade replied. "The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Alex walked over to a trunk near Claudette's bed and unbuckled it, lifting up the lid. She carefully sorted through the assortment of toys as Sherlock kneeled next to her and picked up an envelope. He opened it up and Alex let out a quiet 'oh' of surprise as she saw the contents.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"That book, I used to have it. May I?"

Sherlock handed her it, a little confused. She took it in her hands and smiled reminiscently. It was the same edition, the same cover. She opened it to the contents page and skimmed through the story titles.

"I loved so many of these."

"I've never seen it," Sherlock said, sounding a little… put out?

"Mum used to read it to me when I was really young. I lost it though when I moved to Mycroft's when she died. Reckon it just got chucked in the bin."

Alex took the envelope and slid the book back inside, placing it in the trunk.

"Show me where the brother slept," Sherlock said.

They followed Lestrade up the boy's bedroom, through a bright corridor. Sherlock opened the door that Lestrade indicated. It squeaked as he pushed it, hand splayed against the glass section. He strode slowly into the room, drinking in the details. He went to stand beside the boy's bed, which was draped in blankets and messy pillows. Alex gazed sadly at the imprint left behind of the boy's head.

"The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor," Sherlock said, gesturing to the window in the door. "He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so…" Lestrade said.

"So someone approaches the door who he _doesn't_ recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon," Sherlock hurried outside of the door, closing it slightly and holding up his hand in the shape of a gun. The frosted glass showed a shadow of him.

"What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?" Sherlock muttered, walking back in the room and heading over to the boy's belongings on a shelf beside the bed.

"Run?" Alex suggested. "Or hide, that's what I'd do."

Sherlock shook his head, "This little boy; this particular little boy," he picked up a book from the bedside table – Alex Rider series. "Reads all of these spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign," John said.

Sherlock suddenly turned to Alex, "You smell that?"

She sniffed the air. She did smell something distinctly different to the other rooms in the building. She couldn't put her finger on it.

"It smells like Angelo's kitchen," Alex said.

"And what does he smother all of his food in?"

"Olive oil," Alex replied, nonplussed.

Sherlock's eyes darted around the room and landed on the bat at Alex's feet, "Pass me that!"

Alex bent down and picked up the cricket bat, handing it to her uncle. He took it and sniffed the length of it, eyes narrowing. He dropped the bat and fell to his knees, searching under the bed. He darted forwards and surfaced holding an empty glass bottle. Alex couldn't read the lable.

"Get Anderson."

In a matter of minutes, Anderson had arrived and the room had been darkened as much as possible. Sherlock held a UV light onto the wall just above the boy's bed. The words HELP US shone brightly out at them, the last letter smudged and distorted, no doubt as someone grabbed him.

"I want to meet this kid," Alex said, staring at the words.

"You could learn a thing or two from him," Sherlock mumbled. "Linseed oil. That's why you could smell olive oil, they have a similar fragrance."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"Not much use, though. Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper," Anderson piped up from behind them.

"Brilliant Anderson."

"Really?"

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot."

Alex laughed as Anderson scowled.

Sherlock lowered the light to the floor, where faded sets of illuminated footprints laid, walking away from the room. They followed them out into the corridor.

"He made a trail for us," John said, smiling.

"I _really _want to meet this James Bond Jr now," Alex said.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Sherlock said.

"On tiptoe?" John guessed, inspecting some of the smaller footprints.

"Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head," he paused for a moment further down the corridor. "The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

He stopped as the glowing footprints faded into nothing, just at the end of the corridor.

"That's the end of it. We don't know _where_ they went from here," Anderson said. "Tells us nothing after all."

Sherlock sighed, "You're right, Anderson – nothing… Nothing except his shoe size, his height, his walking pace."

He flicked the switch off on his torch and pulled down the blackout from the windows, allowing light to flood back across the floor. He got to his knees and took out his equipment from his pocket. He unscrewed the lid of the petri dish and scraped up a sample of one of the footprints, placing it inside the dish and sealing it up.

"Having fun?" John asked, crouching next to him.

"Starting to."

"Maybe don't do the smiling. Kidnapped children?"

* * *

><p>"There should be a private shuttle bus for us to St Bart's," Alex said, sat in the fold-down seat opposite John and Sherlock in the cab. "We're there often enough."<p>

"There are things I still don't understand about the case," John said.

"Shoot," Alex said. "See how long I can speculate before Sherlock corrects me."

"Okay, how did he get past CCTV? If all of the doors were locked…"

"Um–"

"He walked in when they weren't locked," Sherlock said.

"Didn't even get a word out," Alex muttered.

"But a stranger can't just walk into a school like that," John said.

"Have you been to a boarding school before? Pick-up days are crazy, especially kids of that age. Their parents have serious money too, so there would have been staff, chauffeurs, kids saying goodbye to other kids, emotional reunions. No one pays attention to anyone else," Alex said.

John frowned, "Have _you _been to boarding school?"

"I went for a week placement as a trial," Alex said. "Then Sherlock missed me too much and took me back."

"That wasn't how it happened," Sherlock scoffed. "I did not miss you. You refused to stay on the grounds and were scaring the other pupils."

"Please, they were too far up their own arses to even realise I was talking. And you didn't tell me I couldn't make conversation."

"I thought it was pretty self-explanatory that you shouldn't introduce yourself to the children of world leaders and say 'I bet we could beat you in a war'."

John laughed, shaking his head at Alex, "You actually said that?"

"Something along the lines of 'our bombs are better than your bombs'. International relations took a bit of a hit after that."

"I bet Mycroft was thrilled."

"He wasn't best pleased," Alec could feel her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. The cab stopped outside the hospital just in time.

She hurried to the morgue, with John still laughing behind her.

Morgue work wasn't something Alex could particularly help with, except for running to get coffees and doing small tasks that Sherlock gave her. He was working on the sample of the footprint. He talked about the oil, and how it preserved what was on the kidnapper's shoes. That was how they were going to find where they were.

He also revealed – not that it came as much of a shock to Alex – that this was Moriarty's doing. John had been surprised, and Molly even more so.

"I can't find it," Sherlock muttered. "It doesn't fit anything I can think of."

He was hunched over his microscope, tapping his foot restlessly. John was over by the other desk, the opposite end of the lab. Molly had gone to get more books.

"I'd offer help but I think that would just insult you," Alex said to her uncle. "If there was lithium in there, I could do it."

Sherlock's lips quirked upwards at the reference to the case she had taken the reigns on.

"You know what Moriarty's up to?" she asked.

"I have a few theories."

"Care to share?"

"No. Oh what _is _this," he grumbled, adjusting the magnification on the microscope and consulting the open book next to him.

Alex sighed, "Okay, I'll leave you to it. I'm just distracting you."

He didn't argue, so Alex decided she was better over with John.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Just looking through evidence. Want to help?"

Alex nodded and took hold of a picture of the boy's bookshelf. They had similar books tastes when Alex was his age. She glanced up as Molly entered the lab again, arms laden with books. She slammed them down near Sherlock's arm and set to work reading one of them. They were talking about something, but Alex couldn't hear and went back to the photographs.

"You okay?" Alex asked John.

"It's all a bit of a whirlwind at the moment. I suppose it has been six weeks, we were just waiting for him to make his move."

"World's longest game of chess," Alex said. "Seventeen years is a long time. Well, eighteen. Moriarty didn't knock my mum up on their first date."

"Much too romantic for that," John mumbled.

"Definitely," Alex said, and paused. "I wonder what she'd be doing here now if she was still alive. No doubt she'd be fighting with Sherlock over the microscope. Or bouncing paper balls off his head. She liked to do that."

John laughed quietly, "They were those kind of siblings were they?"

"Oh yeah. Were you and Harriet?"

His smile faltered, "Not so much. It wasn't really_ play_ fighting. We would properly row."

"Fancied the same girl?"

"More than once," John said reminiscently.

Alex looked past John's head to Sherlock and Molly. They quickly averted their eyes. John turned to look at them, too, and the pair of them carried on muttering lowly, working.

"They were talking about us," Alex said.

John turned her shoulder so she was completely facing him, "Don't make it obvious!"

Alex made a face and picked up another photograph, John doing the same. She couldn't see anything from hers but something suddenly hit her as she glanced over at John's. It was a picture of the envelope in which the fairy tale book laid. But what Alex hadn't seen in person was the red seal.

"John, is that - ?"

He had seen it too, "That's the same one, isn't it? The same one that got sent to us."

"Look, you have it in your pocket don't you?"

John was already unzipping the pocket of his jacket, and took out the folded envelope. He smoothed out some of the creases and flipped it over. There it was. The exact same seal.

"Sherlock!" John called, both of them walking over to him. "This envelope was in the girl's trunk. There's another one."

"What?"

"On our doorstep."

"We didn't think anything of it," Alex said. "But look it's the same seal."

John handed it over to Sherlock, who opened it up and tipped some of the contents onto the desk. Alex peered closer and realised that it wasn't just dust or stones.

"Breadcrumbs?" Alex arched a brow in confusion.

"A little trace of breadcrumbs; hardback copy of fairy tales… Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs."

"That's Hansel and Gretel," John said. "What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?"

"The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to me '_All fairy tales need a good old-fashioned villain'._ The fifth substance is part of the tale."

"I never liked Hansel and Gretel," Alex said. "The father always scared the life out of me."

"Not the witch?" Molly asked.

"What she did was in her nature, what she was supposed to do. Fathers are supposed to protect. Of course back then I didn't know who mine was. Ironic."

Sherlock closed his eyes, mind racing, "The fifth element is the witch's house… the glycerol molecule," he slammed his fist down on the table. "PGPR!"

"What's that?" John asked.

Sherlock leapt to his feet, practically sprinting out of the lab. John and Alex ran to catch up with him.

"Sherlock, what's PGPR?" Alex yelled, trying to meet his pace.

"It's used in making chocolate!" he replied, swinging around the door to the stairs. "Call Lestrade!"

"And tell him what?!" John asked.

But Sherlock had already ran out of earshot. They reached the stairs as he barrelled through the exit.

Alex grumbled, out of breath as she took out her phone and called the detective inspector, "We're coming… over… Sherlock has something… I'm running down stairs of course I'm out of breath! We'll be there in a few… minutes."

Alex stuffed her phone into her pocket and continued to run, "This better bloody not be a false alarm."

* * *

><p>As soon as they arrived at Scotland Yard, Lestrade headed over to them, holding a piece of paper.<p>

"This fax arrived an hour ago," he said, handing it to Sherlock.

HURRY UP, THEY'RE DYING!

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked, looking desperate.

"We need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," he handed a note over to Lestrade, where the five elements in the footprint were scribbled down.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation… What the hell is this? Chocolate? Alex, did you put that in?"

"Hey!"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory," Sherlock said.

"We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No. No-no-no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk; chalky clay – that's a far thinner band of geology."

"Brick dust?" Lestrade said.

"Building site?" Alex suggested.

Sherlock nodded, "Bricks from the 1950s."

Lestrade ran a hand over his face, groaning, "There's _thousands _of building sites in London."

"I've got people out looking."

"So have I."

"Homeless network – faster than the police. Far more relaxed about taking bribes."

"You sure about that?" Alex said.

Anderson came to stand next to Lestrade and rolled his eyes at Alex's comment.

"This is ridiculous–" he started, but was cut off by a trill from Sherlock's phone.

Sherlock turned to give him a smug smile before looking at the message. They were all possible locations sent to him by the homeless network. He read through them silently until his eyes narrowed and he held out the screen of his phone for Alex and John to see. It was an image of a purple flower.

"Rhododendron ponticum. It matches."

"Okay, so…?"

Sherlock closed his eyes again, hands darting in different directions as he frantically scoured his mind palace. A few moments passed while every head in the room turned to Sherlock, watching in anticipation.

His eyes snapped open suddenly.

"Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade said.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything."

"Right, come on!" Lestrade shouted to his team, turning to the door. He spotted Donovan, who had hesitated. "_Come on!"_

Alex clapped her uncle on the shoulder as they headed out to Lestrade's car, "Nice one, 'Lockie."

* * *

><p>Lestarde's car was first on the scene at Addlestone, soon followed by a huge swarm of police cars behind them. Everywhere, uniformed officers poured from vehicles into the disused sweet factory, Sherlock, John, and Alex in the middle of them.<p>

"Spread out, please. _Spread out!" _Alex heard Donovan yell from the other entrance to the factory.

It was dark inside, and Alex clutched her torch tightly, pointing it in every crevice and corner she could find. She stayed close to John and Sherlock to begin with, but as they became shorter and shorter of time, she branched out. They didn't notice.

"Come on, come on, where are you?" Alex muttered. "Come on, kids."

Footsteps echoed off every wall, creating a tapping and scuffling crescendo, but it was another noise that caught Alex's attention. It was a sniffle. Or at least, that was what it sounded like. It could be old piping, or a groan of metal as it accommodated to the sudden influx of people after so many years of abandonment. But no, there it was again. A definite sniffle. It was close.

"Hello?" Alex called out.

"Shh!" a voice replied.

Alex wasn't sure if it was male or female, only that it was a child. Alex pointed her torch in the general direction of the sound, but found nothing.

"Where are you?" she whispered.

"Are you good?" it was a girl's voice. It was trembling.

Claudette.

"Yes, Claudette. I'm good. Your dad asked me to come and find you," Alex said in a reassuring tone. "Where are you?"

Suddenly, a hand appeared in the beam of light shone by the torch, coming from a tiny gap between what looked to be old steel machinery. The hand disappeared, and Alex got to her knees and shuffled through the gap, following the hand. The thin gap widened out into a little alcove, where Claudette sat with tears down her cheeks and chocolate around her mouth, cradling her brother. He wasn't conscious.

Alex shone the torch over the floor, lighting up around fifty sweet wrappers.

"Who are all the people shouting?" Claudette asked.

"They're good people. They're the police officers I'm working with. My uncle found out where you were and we've come to take you back to your dad," Alex explained.

"Can you help my brother?" Claudette asked tearfully.

"Of course I can. Will you let me carry him?"

She bit her lip, hugging him a little bit closer.

"Claudette, I know this is scary and I know you don't know me, but I promise that I'm trying to help you."

"The man…" she mumbled. "I heard him on the phone."

"I know," Alex said, reaching out and touching Claudette's shoulder. "I know, Claudette. But he's gone now, you don't have to be scared of him."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes. And I'm telling you, he's not here. Now I need you to be very brave and let me carry your brother because the sooner we get him to a doctor, the sooner he can get better."

Hesitantly, Claudette nodded. Alex gave her an assuring smile and moved to take Max into her arms. She then turned and squeezed through the gap with difficulty, trying to keep Max as secure as possible. As soon as she was out into the open space of the factory, she turned and grabbed hold of Claudette's hand. The girl clung to her.

"Can you cover your ears for me, Claudette?" Alex asked.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to need to shout very loud and there's quite an echo in here. I don't want to hurt your ears."

Claudette shifted so that her arm was looped around Alex's, and both hands clamped over her ears.

"OVER HERE! I'VE GOT THEM! HURRY!" Alex yelled as loud as she could, making her throat scream in protest. "OVER HERE!"

Officers came running, one immediately taking Max from Alex's arms and running with him to the ambulance waiting outside. Claudette still stuck to Alex, forcing her to come with her to the police car. Donovan held the girl's other hand as they led her outside.

"Don't worry," Donovan said. "It's all going to be fine."

Claudette nodded as she climbed in the back of the police car, still holding Alex's hand. Alex manage to wrangle out of her grip gently.

"Make the most of it, Claudette. The only time you can ride in the back of a police car again will be if you're getting arrested, which isn't fun," Alex said, making Claudette giggle. "And when your brother wakes up, tell him well done from me. He's a very clever boy."

Claudette smiled proudly, "Those spy books saved our lives."

"Sure did. I'll see you later, Claudette. Donovan will stay with you," Alex nodded to the woman. "She'll take great care of you, she's very nice."

Claudette nodded and turned her smile on Donovan as Alex waved and walked across the car park to where Sherlock, John, and Lestrade were stood by his car.

"Well done, finding them like that," Lestrade said.

"I was just in the right place at the right time. Really it's Max and Sherlock we have to thank," Alex grinned up at her uncle.

"What did she say to you?" he asked.

"Nothing much. Something about hearing a man on the phone who I presume to be Moriarty, but nothing really that we didn't already know."

"We'll find out more when we talk to her back at the station, once the shock has worn off a bit," Lestrade said.

* * *

><p>It turned out that they would end up having to wait a little longer, even after getting back to the station. A family liaison officer and child therapist were in with her for a long time, and she was cooperating with the detailed answers the police wanted, as she was so anxious to see that her brother was okay.<p>

After two hours, Donovan came into the room, looking exhausted but still able to snarl at Sherlock, John, and Alex, "Right, then. The professionals have finished. If the amateurs want to go in and have their turn…"

"I was nice to you," Alex said with a glare.

Donovan rolled her eyes as they stood and headed for the door. Lestrade stopped Sherlock.

"Now, remember, she's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to..."

"Not be myself?"

"Yeah, might be helpful."

"You seem to be forgetting that I did have a seven year-old myself ten years ago," Sherlock said, looking at Alex. "She turned out fine."

"Alex is a little bit of an exception," Lestrade said, giving her an apologetic smile. "Just…"

"Tone it down," Donovan said. "Pretend to be a normal person for once. You don't want to terrify her even more."

Sherlock managed to keep a stoic face as he edged around Donovan to the door, John following him. Alex waited behind, staring at Donovan. Lestrade glanced between the two warily.

"I could have said exactly what I thought of you to Claudette, Sally. I could have said what I bitch I think you are, but instead I lied for you. I don't like lying to people, contrary to popular belief."

"Like I'd say anything to upset her," Donovan scoffed.

"No, you wouldn't. So you are capable of being a decent human being you just decide not to around my family," Alex said.

"Yeah well your family isn't as transparent as every believes, are they?"

Alex had a retort on the tip of her tongue for what she thought Sally had been about to say, but the comment caught her off guard.

"What?"

She maintained eye contact with her, narrowing her eyes, "If it's any consolation, I don't believe you're as similar as your uncle as I thought all these years. You genuinely care, I see that."

"So does he!" Alex exclaimed, and turned to Lestrade. "What the hell is she talking about?"

Lestrade opened his mouth, no doubt to try and diffuse the situation, when an ear-piercing scream erupted from inside the room where Sherlock and John were with Claudette. Immediately, Lestrade jumped into action, running out of the office.

Donovan didn't move, she just kept staring at Alex.

"What, Donovan?" Alex demanded. "What?"

Sherlock took that moment to storm back into the office, making a beeline for the window and ignoring Alex. John and Lestrade arrived in tow. Donovan ducked out to check on Claudette.

"What happened?" Alex asked.

"We just went in, soon as she saw Sherlock, she freaked, started screaming," John said.

"That makes no sense, she's never seen Sherlock before."

"The kid's traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper," Lestrade said.

Donovan regressed into the room, folding her arms.

"So what's she said?" John asked her.

"Hasn't uttered another syllable."

"And we won't be able to get anything from the boy," Lestrade said. "He's still unconscious in Intensive Care."

Alex looked over to Sherlock, grimacing. He continued to stare out of the window.

"Well, don't let it get to you. _I_ always feel like screaming when you walk into a room! In fact, so do most people," Lestrade said, turning to Donovan, John, and Alex. "Come on."

"You coming, Sherlock?" Alex asked.

"In a moment."

Alex nodded and walked out of the room with John. It was only a few steps until she realised Donovan hadn't come out with them. She stopped. She didn't like that one bit. Keeping her footsteps as light as possible, she retreated back to Lestrade's office, standing just beside the door.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint. It's really amazing," Alex heard Donovan say.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied quietly.

"_Unbelievable."_

Alex frowned, trying to work out what she meant by that, but quickly scurried around the corner as she heard Sherlock's footsteps approaching the door. Alex popped her head around the wall and watched him walk down the corridor and through the door to the stairs, out of sight. But Donovan still hadn't left.

Knowing Sherlock wouldn't notice her absence when in such deep thought, Alex hung back a little longer, waiting for Donovan to resurface.

After a few minutes, she did, but she didn't go to the stairs as Alex thought she would. Instead, she turned just before that, and Alex followed the soft tapping of the woman's heels to the evidence room, fuelling Alex's confusion even more. What could she possibly want in there? They'd already found Max and Claudette… The woman picked up photographs of the crime scene, lifting her hand in front of her face. Her back was facing Alex, but she knew that she was chewing her nails. She was thinking. That was bad.

Suddenly, a distant cough alerted Alex to the presence of someone approaching. She knew that cough. Lestrade. Instinctively, Alex darted to the room opposite the evidence room, whirling around and pulling the door so that it was open just a fraction. She left the lights off. She pressed her eye against the gap, thanking God that the room was empty.

Sure enough, just a few seconds later, Lestrade passed in front of the door, and paused. He was looking in the evidence room. He had spotted Donovan. Maybe now Alex would be able to figure out what was going through the woman's mind when she had spoken to her earlier.

"Problem?" Lestrade asked, walking to Donovan's side.

She was silent for a moment.

"The footprint," she said, lifting up what Alex presumed to be a photograph of it. "It's all he has. A footprint."

"Yeah, well, you know what he's like – CSI Baker Street," Lestrade said, a grin in his voice.

Alex smiled, holding back a laugh. She loved Lestrade.

"Well _our _boys couldn't have done it," Donovan said.

"Well, that's why we need _him. _He's _better," _Lestrade said enthusiastically.

"That's one explanation," Donovan muttered.

Alex's smile fell. She swallowed, dread clawing its way into her gut.

"And what's the other?"

"Look," Donovan said. "He only has a footprint and somehow he knows exactly in the entire world the kids are. Down to the exact building! And then the girl screams her head off when she sees him – a man she has never seen before ... unless she _had_ seen him before."

"Wh-what's your point?"

"You know what my point is, you just don't want to think about it. Anderson and I have been talking. We think the same."

Alex wanted nothing more than to run in there and rip the woman's hair out. Her nails dug into the paint on the door as she struggled to contain her anger, which was thudding in her chest. Lestrade would defend her uncle, of course he would. Lestrade was his friend, he was _her _friend.

But all he said was, "You and Anderson in my office now."

They walked to the office in silence, and Alex left a few seconds after they had turned the corner to follow them. Donovan shouted Anderson, who was waiting at his desk. Once they entered the office, Alex crouched below the window focussing on their voices as much as she could.

What they said first, she missed, but she managed to fine-tune her hearing to latch onto the rest of the conversation.

"You're not _seriously _suggesting he's involved, are you?" Lestrade asked.

The incredulity in his voice made Alex smirk. He saw how ridiculous the accusation was.

"I think we have to entertain the possibility," Anderson said.

"What if he's lying?" Donovan said. "You have all of the facts in front of you, and they all point to him. You can't honestly tell me you don't see that."

Alex held her breath, waiting for Lestrade's reply. She waited. And waited. He wasn't saying anything. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he sticking up for Sherlock? But he remained silent. Just as Donovan had. He was thinking.

_He shouldn't need to think! _

"Okay, okay," his voice was muffled, like he had his hands over his face. Then it cleared and he said much quieter. "Okay."

Alex's jaw dropped. _What?! _

She heard the shuffling of chairs and the sound of a coat being pulled on, then footsteps approaching the door, but Alex couldn't bring herself to move. She just straightened up and stared as Donovan and Anderson left the office, walking straight into Alex. They stopped and glanced at each other, then back at her. Her stare was unfaltering.

"What?" Lestrade said, he too getting up. "What's going-? Alex…"

She turned her eyes on him.

He sighed, grimacing. He sent a glare at Anderson and Donovan and held out a hand for Alex.

"Come in."

She shook her head.

"Alex, come on," he said. "Let me explain."

"I've heard enough shitty explaining from her," Alex pointed at Donovan. "I know exactly what you're doing and I know that you're wrong."

"Look, just get in," Lestrade grabbed her shoulder and pulled her into the office, shutting out Donovan and Anderson. "Listen to me–"

"You're supposed to be his friend!"

"I am! Listen!" he sent a cautious look to the door. "I have to follow this up, it's procedure."

"Bollocks to procedure," Alex hissed. "When's that ever stopped you before? Me just being here is a break in procedure."

Lestrade ignored her, "I have to take him in. I can go round now and he can come with me willingly and we can all sit together and iron this out, okay? You'll all be back at Baker Street in a couple of hours, probably even less if I know your uncle."

The way he said that, with a reassuring smile and a compliment to Sherlock, made Alex's temper deflate slightly. She took a breath and let it out.

"See, it's all alright. Don't stress yourself out over it."

"But what Donovan was saying, I…" Alex cleared her throat. "Sherlock would never do that. Ever. It's stupid and she's a bitch."

"Alex," Lestrade said half-heartedly. "Don't call her that."

"Why not? She is. So you're going now, home to get Sherlock?" Alex asked.

Lestrade nodded.

"Might as well get this over with," Alex said.

He smiled, "Thank you, Alex. I don't want to fight with you."

She gave him a tight smile back, "Let's just go and get him."

"You riding with us?"

"If by 'us' you mean _those _two, no. I'll take a cab. Just wait for me before you go in. I'll try and talk some sense into him in case he does something stupid."

"No problem," Lestrade said, reaching out the door handle.

He was a fraction away when Alex said, "You do believe me, right? You don't think he did this?"

Lestrade held her gaze for a moment before opening the office door to Donovan and Anderson.

"Come on, Alex."

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: RainbowSilenced, i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, shnuffeluv, POTC misty potter temple, Lisa Halette, persephonie025, mysteryasgardian, purplechic13, FlewandFlied, and AJPJweallluvJJ for reviewing!<strong>

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	111. The Reichenbach Fall - Part 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: You know what's happening now. I'm sorry. I'm just really sorry. **

**Enjoy (if you can):**

In the cab, Alex sent a text to Mycroft, telling him what was happening, though she no doubt already knew. He didn't reply, fuelling Alex's already burning fear and confusion. Something was going on and she was being kept in the dark.

Lestrade and Donovan had arrived before Alex, and were waiting on the curb when the cab stopped.

"Hey," Lestrade said with a smile.

Alex didn't return it, knowing that he was just trying to make himself – and her – feel better for what he was about to do. Instead, she opened the door and walked up the stairs, Lestrade and Donovan in tow.

"Donovan, don't come in. You won't help the situation. Where's Anderson?"

"I thought it would be better if Anderson stayed behind for this one."

_You could have left Donovan as well, _Alex thought.

"Well, just wait here until I talk to him," Alex said.

Lestrade nodded, and Alex took a breath before opening the door into the flat. She had expected to see her uncle sat in his chair, hands folded beneath his chin in thought, as he usually was, but instead, he was climbing on the bookcase. She sent John a 'what's he doing now?' look and he just shook his head.

"Sherlock," Alex said, walking over to him. "I need to talk to you."

"You really shouldn't eavesdrop on other people's conversations, Alex," he said, wiggling a book on the shelf. He muttered something about dust.

"I," she stopped. "How did you - ? Never mind, listen, you have to think about this."

"Yes I do," he paused for half of a second. "Done. Happy?"

"Sherlock, please!"

"What's going on?" John asked.

"It's just a mistake, something they have to follow up. You know that," Alex said imploringly. "Please just go with them."

"Go with who?"

Sherlock turned to Alex with a disappointed look on his face, "Are those your words or his?"

Alex glared at him, "Get down off the bookcase and come with me to sort this out."

"Sort what out?!" John yelled. "Will someone tell me what's going on?!"

Hearing the door open, Alex chewed her lip. This wasn't going well at all.

"No, Inspector," Sherlock said, taking something in his hand over to the laptop. Alex looked closer and realised it was a camera.

"This just gets better and better," she muttered.

"You haven't heard the question yet!" Lestrade said.

"He knows," Alex told him without taking her eyes off Sherlock.

"Course he does," Lestrade mumbled. "Sherlock…"

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking. Or my niece asking because apparently you've convinced her too," Sherlock said bitterly.

"Hey, I never said - !"

"Quiet, Alex. What was it, the scream?"

Lestrade went to deny it but sighed and relented, "Yeah."

Sherlock stood up, walking over to him. Alex felt the sudden need to hold him back.

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home," he tapped Lestrade's forehead. "There."

"Will you come?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock shook his head and moved back to the desk, "One photograph – that's his next move. Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch," Alex winced. "It is a game, Lestrade, and not one I'm willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."

Alex's eyes widened, "No, you have to go with him," she pulled Lestrade back as he turned to leave. "Wait!" she rounded on Sherlock. "Go with him. No one actually think you did it apart from Donovan but she thinks the sun shines out of Anderson's arse so her credibility is somewhat tainted."

"I won't be part of Moriarty's game."

"Don't be so stupid! Just go and sort it out! John, help me out here!" Alex sent him a pleading look.

John remained silent, watching Sherlock.

Regretfully, Lestrade moved Alex's hand from his sleeve and walked out of the door.

"You idiot," Alex said to Sherlock. "You idiot, you idiot! Lestrade wait!"

She ran to the top of the stairs, where he and Donovan were at the front door.

"He didn't mean it, come back. Let me try and convince him a little more, please!"

"You can't make him," Lestrade said. His voice was low and sad. "Look, don't worry. I'll sort this out."

Donovan looked up at her with an unreadable expression: pity? Lestrade turned her away and closed the door behind them.

Furious, Alex ran back into the living room.

"Why wouldn't you go with him?!" she shouted, eyes flashing. "Do you realise how much worse you've made this for yourself?"

Sherlock looked up from the laptop, equally as furious.

"You know, after all of these years I expected you to be on my side. You've come as quite a surprise!"

"Don't you dare turn this around on me! John!"

"You should have gone with him," John agreed. "People'll think…"

"I don't care what people think."

Alex scoffed.

"You'd care if people thought you were stupid. Or wrong."

"No that would just make them stupid or wrong."

"Sherlock! We don't want people thinking you're…" he trailed off, pursing his lips.

"That I'm what?" Sherlock asked.

"A fraud," Alex said.

"You're worried they're right."

Alex rolled her eyes, "Of course not, you stupid idiot. If anyone knows you're not a fraud, it's us."

"That's why you're so upset," Sherlock ploughed on, regardless. "You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well."

"No!"

"Moriarty is playing with your minds too," he slammed his fist down on the desk. "Can't you _see _what's going on?!"

"Sherlock, listen to yourself! Look who you're talking to! It's us!" Alex said imploringly. "Come on, you can't seriously think _we're_ doubting you? I've been around you my entire life! Frankly I'm insulted you'd even think that low of me."

"We know you for real," John said, nodding.

"One hundred percent?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick _all_ the time."

Sherlock smiled faintly and went back to the laptop, while John turned to stare out of the window. It was then that Alex saw the faint spots of blood on Sherlock's collar. She took hold of the fabric, making him jump in surprise and relax once he realised what she had seen.

"It's not mine," he said impatiently, tugging his shirt back.

"I know that, dumbo, I'm just wondering who you've beaten up now."

"I haven't beaten anyone up."

"So why are you covered in blood?"

"Don't exaggerate."

"Someone got shot," John answered before they could erupt into another argument. "Did Mycroft tell you about a man called Sulejmani_?"_

"Yeah, he's a killer. He shot someone?"

"No, he got shot."

Alex blinked, "Okay… why?"

"Because he saved my life," Sherlock said without looking up from the camera.

"Great," Alex laughed wryly. "Great, so people are getting killed for helping you now, are they?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"Then explain."

"I'm handling it."

"I'm sure you are," Alex felt irritation prickle under her skin.

"You don't need to know–"

"I'M NOT A CHILD ANYMORE!"

Both Sherlock and John snapped their attention to Alex, shocked at her anger. She curled her fingers into a fist, trying not to shake.

"Every time, _every time _something like this happens, you tell me not to worry, that you're going to sort it all out. Well guess what? You can't. There is no way you can sort this out and if you think keeping me in the dark is somehow making me feel better, somehow protecting me, it isn't. It just makes things ten times worse. And I am terrified, Sherlock," Alex stared at him intensely, biting her quivering lip. "I am absolutely terrified because I don't know what's happening. Suddenly, people you have known for years, people I have known all of my life are accusing you of being a fraud and a kidnapper and God knows what else, trained assassins are living on our doorstep, Mycroft won't answer his phone, you come in here stained with someone else's blood, my head's pounding, and I don't know what to do! I know he's talked to you, Sherlock, I'm not that thick. But I don't know what to expect. And I'm not just scared for me, I'm scared for everyone else and I have been since he walked out of the courtroom – no, _no, _actually, I have been since we first met him. Because you have no idea what he did to me at that funhouse and what he did to my friends, and we have no idea what he did to mum…We have no idea what he's capable of or what he's going to do, except… 'burn you'…" she trailed off, turning away to face the kitchen, running a hand through her hair. "I'm scared because I know what's going to happen now is so much worse than anything he's done before. And this time it's you, not me."

There was a terse silence, in which the only sound was Alex's shaky breathing, which she was trying to control. Still facing away from them, Alex heard John go to the door, giving them some privacy. She had a mind to go with him, turn her back on everything. Would it really be so bad? She was so desperate to know, but what if Sherlock was right? What if not knowing was better?

"You can take care of yourself when you're in the right frame of mind," Sherlock finally said. "And don't try to dispute that."

"I won't. I agree."

"This hasn't put you in that frame of mind."

"I know," she steeled herself and turned to face him. "But that doesn't mean I can't know. I want you to tell me everything from the beginning, Sherlock. I want you to tell me what you've been plotting – don't deny it! You know exactly what I'm talking about. Mycroft only doesn't answer his phone when it's strategy. And when I asked you if you had a plan, you said no, and you lied. You seem to forget sometimes who brought me up. Will you tell me?"

He stood up from his chair, walking over to stand in front of her. It had been a while, she realised, since she had been so close to him, and she noticed the decrease in size difference. He seemed to, too. She didn't have to tilt her head back to look at him as she used to. They were on equal footing.

"Please," she said.

He continued to stare, eyes narrowing and lips twitching. She knew he was thinking about it.

"Alex, there's–" a sharp ringing cut him off, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his vibrating phone.

Alex glanced at the screen. Mycroft. Sherlock shut it off.

"Answer it, it might be important," she said.

"If it were, he'd ring you."

Alex rolled her eyes briefly and waited as Sherlock took his time placing his phone down on the desk. She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he remained quiet.

"Sherlock," she prompted.

He opened his mouth, and Alex thought he was about to tell her, when he shook his head, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Alex spluttered in disbelief, "_What? _No, you were about to–"

"Sherlock!" John came running into the room, interrupting Alex without so much as an apologetic look. Alex knew whatever it was was serious and she shut her mouth.

"What?" Sherlock asked, seeming glad of the distraction. Alex resisted the urge to glare.

"Seems we still have some friends on the force. It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs: every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people."

Alex's eyes widened, "You have to leave."

Sherlock scoffed, "And go where?"

Alex ignored him, hurrying to grab his coat that was hanging on the back of the sofa. She handed it to him but he wouldn't take it. Growling, Alex tried to wrangle his arms into it, but he wouldn't cooperate. She threw it down in frustration.

"Why are you being like this?! You need to get out now, they're on their way."

"No. I'm in control."

"No you're bloody not! You're being arrested!"

"Ooh-ooh," Mrs Hudson called, knocking on the open door. She glanced between Sherlock and Alex, the latter of which looked like she was about to unleash hell. "Hope I'm not interrupting?"

"No, Mrs Hudson," Alex said with a tight smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

The old woman turned to John, "Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'Perishable' – I had to sign for it. Thought it might be yours."

John took the parcel she handed to him and Alex immediately recognised the envelope as the same one that had been on their doorstep and in Claudette's trunk. John made eye contact with her and looked back down at it.

"Funny name," Mrs Hudson continued, oblivious. "_German. _Like the fairy tales."

Sherlock perked up, getting up from his chair and walking over to take the parcel from John. Alex moved closer. He slit the top and tipped out a charred gingerbread man.

"Burnt to a crisp," he muttered.

"I wouldn't eat that, dear. It'll make you ill. I can make you some if you like?" Mrs Hudson offered.

Alex couldn't bring herself to smile at her.

"What does it mean?" John asked gravely.

The trill of the doorbell stopped Sherlock before he could explain, and Alex's heart doubled its beating as a voice shouted, 'Police!'

"I'll go," Mrs Hudson said lightly.

"No," Alex said, taking back into the room by the shoulder. She fixed Sherlock with a determined look. "I'll go."

She turned on her heel and descended the stairs to the front door, opening it. A horde of officers stood outside, and blue lights filled the street. Lestrade stood at the forefront, Donovan beside him. He went to speak.

"No," Alex said.

"Alex–"

"No, get out."

"You don't have a choice in the matter," Donovan said. "Now move out of our way."

"No," Alex said, almost lazily.

She pursed her lips and went to physically move Alex out of the way of the door, but Alex mustered up the most threatening glare she could – which was extremely easy – and started forwards. Donovan quickly backed off.

"If you don't move, Alex, we'll have to arrest you," Lestrade said regretfully.

Alex shook her head at him, "You know, I didn't take you for a liar, Greg. Or someone who would do this to an innocent man. Actually, I didn't think you were all this stupid."

Lestrade sighed and motioned for the officers to push past Alex. Before one of them could touch her, Alex backed up, letting them in so far. As they walked forwards, she walked backwards, never breaking eye contact.

"You're making a huge mistake," she said to Lestrade. "A _huge _mistake. You're all going to regret this so much, I'm telling you. Every single one of you."

She started up the stairs, and Mrs Hudson appeared at the top, "Don't barge in like that!"

"Why don't we call the police, Mrs Hudson? You know, the proper police that try to keep innocent people safe, not break into people's homes at night and lock them away for no reason," Alex said pointedly.

"Alex, please," Lestrade pleaded. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

She stopped at the top of the stairs, "I would keep your mouth shut, Lestrade, because I am very close to pushing one of you down a floor and you're the only one talking."

"Sir, she's threatening you," one of the officers mumbled.

"Yeah, Greg," Alex said. "Aren't you going to do something? Aren't you going to lock me up too?"

They got to the living room and Alex planted her hands across the door opening. Her hands clenched into fists and panic rose in her chest like a gradually inflating balloon, compressing her organs and crushing her ribs. She couldn't breathe.

"Stop," she whispered, taking a different approach. "Just stop."

But, when Donovan tried to reply instead of Lestrade, Alex felt a thread inside her snap.

"I don't know how you _dare _come here, Donovan," Alex spat. "Even you are smart enough to know that this wouldn't put me in the best of moods and given that I'm the only girl here who can actually give you a bat and not feel guilty, that doesn't spell great news for you. Even more unfortunate, life's been pretty shit recently and I was _extremely _close to murdering someone_ before_ you came. And right now, I'm looking at you and thinking the sentence might be worth it."

A warning hand on her shoulder told her not to do what she was thinking of, and forced her fist to uncurl. The feeling of the hand made the anger disappear and a new emotion spring up in its place: fear. She looked around, really seeing the officers for the first time, hearing the sirens outside, and how loud her heart was pounding. She allowed the hand to pull her back and another to pull her to the side – John. She stood beside him, clutching his arm.

Sherlock stood calmly as Lestrade read him his rights and cuffed him.

"Why do you need to do that?" Alex said.

"He's not resisting," John said, glancing between Sherlock and Alex. They wouldn't look at each other. He felt her tremble.

"It's all right, John," Sherlock said.

"He's not resisting. No, it's _not_ all right. This is ridiculous."

"Get him downstairs, now," Lestrade said to his officers, who led Sherlock away.

Alex watched him go, and wondered how the hell he was going to get himself out of this one. Throat tight, she turned away from the door, and John put a comforting arm around her.

"You know you don't have to do–" John started.

Lestrade held a finger in front of his face sternly, "Don't interfere or I shall arrest you too," his gaze shifted to Alex, who looked up at him blankly. His mouth tried to form words several times.

"Don't," Alex said emotionlessly.

He didn't bother trying again and went to follow his officers out of the room, head bowed, hurt and shame written across his face. Seeing it made Alex's heart clench despite what he was doing and she picked at the fabric of her sleeve.

"It's gonna be fine," John said. "He knows what he's doing."

"Does he?" Alex said, unconvinced. "I… I've never seen… I've been like…"

John didn't say anything, but tightened his arms around her momentarily. Alex heard footsteps and turned her head to see that Donovan had returned. Suddenly John's hold switched from comforting to restraining.

"You done?"

"I said it," Donovan said smugly. "First time we met."

"Don't bother," John spat.

""Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line." Now, ask yourself: what sort of man would kidnap those kids just so he can impress us all by finding them? And what kind of man would do that to you, Alex? All those times you've been hurt because of him. You deserve better than that."

Alex surged forwards, ready to tear into her, but John held her back, "Get out, Donovan. _Now."_

"Donovan," a voice that Alex didn't recognise said.

As soon as he walked into the room, Alex realised who it was. The chief superintendent.

"Sir," Donovan said.

"Got our man?" he asked, strolling pompously into the room.

"Er, yes, sir."

"Looked a bit of a _weirdo_, if you ask me," he said, and Alex felt John's arms drop from around her, and her fingers found their way into a fist. "Often are, these vigilante types… what are you looking at?"

The punch John delivered was very impressive, making Alex's eyes widen and Donovan gasp in shock. Blood immediately poured from the chief super's nose and Alex rushed forwards as two officers that had been waiting on the landing descended on John, grabbing his arms. She put her hands on the man's shoulders.

"Ooh, let me see," she said compassionately, tilting his head back. "It looks dislocated… I can fix that for you."

Donovan didn't even have time to react as Alex swung her left hand against her boss's face, punching his already bleeding nose the other way.

"That's better."

She was glad punching Moriarty had given her so much practice, because that definitely hurt him more than her. As she expected, she was cuffed and dragged outside, much to the _surprise _of Sherlock and John, who were leaned against a police car. Sherlock gave her a small grin and she sent one back. If she stayed with them, she didn't need to worry.

But, she was led away from Sherlock and John to another car, a few meters away, alone. She could make out the fact that they were talking, but then an officer turned her around so she wasn't facing them, and just had to face the road.

_At least Mycroft will immediately bail us so we won't have to wait long. Or rather, bail me and John, not sure whether Sherlock will be eligible. But he isn't a danger, surely they would –_

Alex's thoughts were cut off by a muffled screeching sound, that she recognised as feedback from a walkie-talkie. She tried to focus on what was happening behind her in the reflection of the police car window, and managed to make out Sherlock moving to grab something and holding it in the air.

_Oh my God._

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Alex said warily. "What are you doing?"

When no one moved, he fired what Alex now knew to be a gun into the air twice, "Now would be good!"

"Do as he says!" Alex heard Lestrade shout, and she felt it safe to turn around.

"Just so you know," John said. "The gun is his idea!"

Sherlock held the gun to John's head, backing away from the scene, "My hostage."

"Hostage," John breathed. "Hostage, yes that works. That works."

Just as they were at the corner, Sherlock met Alex's eye. He looked conflicted, pausing. Alex tried to tug at the handcuffs but they wouldn't budge and the officers were standing too close. She didn't have a chance.

"Go," she mouthed.

He still didn't move.

"Go!" she shouted this time, causing the officers nearby to glare at her.

Reluctantly, he nodded, and he and John disappeared around the corner. Alex watched the spot where they had been and tried to control her breathing. She was alone in the haze of lights and the dread and worry in her gut coiled tighter. She didn't notice when people started to move again.

"Get after him Lestrade!" a nasally voice shouted, but Lestrade was walking over to Alex.

He took her by the shoulder to his car, where he told her to sit in the back. He then went over to the chief superintendent and said something Alex couldn't make out, but it didn't seem good. The super glowered and stalked away with a curt nod of the head. Lestrade ran a hand over his face and climbed into the driver's seat wordlessly.

Alex didn't know what to say, so said nothing at all. The ride to the station was completely silent and she scoured each street that went flashing by, looking for traces of a long coat and purple scarf, but finding nothing. They were by no means that thick.

As she had expected, Lestrade led her to a cell, where he told her to sit. She did so wordlessly.

"Right, you have to stay here for the night," he told her.

She frowned, "Mycroft will–"

"He won't."

"What?"

"First thing I did. He said no to bail. Told you to stay here until tomorrow lunch time."

Alex let out a surprised sigh, "Okay. If that's what I have to do."

"You shouldn't have–"

"Shut up."

"Okay," he replied instantly. "Maybe you were entitled. But I didn't say that."

Alex nodded, "You'll keep me up to date with Sherlock and John?"

Lestrade's face darkened, "You know where they've gone?"

"If I did, you think I'd be here?"

"Fair point," he walked out of the cell into the corridor, going to close the door when Alex stood up.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking ashamed. "You're just doing your job."

He grimaced and closed the door, "I'll see you in the morning. Get some sleep."

Alex almost laughed at that last statement. Sleep sounded perfectly ridiculous now. Nevertheless, she sat down on the cot and closed her eyes, back pressed up against the wall. Everything was quieter here, no flashing lights or blabbering people, but it only eased her panic slightly. She still felt it bubbling under the surface, like magma, and she knew she would continue to feel it until Moriarty was gone. Gone for good this time. It was the process and the sacrifices in doing that that scared her.

It was so quiet and she was so deep in her whirring mind that the sudden call of her name made her jump.

"Alex!" it hissed.

She frowned. It was coming from the next cell. But she wasn't supposed to hear them. She went to the little metal flap in the door where the officers could peer in. It was supposed to be closed, but as Alex looked closer, she saw that there was a gap between it and the door. A small push, and the entire thing fell out into the corridor, hitting the floor with a metallic crash. She winced and waited for the custody sergeant to come charging down, but as the seconds passed, there was nothing.

_"Alex!"_

It was much louder now that there was an open window in the door and Alex stuck her head out to see that her neighbour's was also on the floor.

"Who are you?" she whispered back.

"T'is you!" they whooped, sounding extremely drunk or high.

Alex cocked her head. That voice sounded familiar. The owner's name came to her in a flash.

"Raz," she said with a groan. "What've you done now?"

"Ain't done nuffin'."

"Likely story," she muttered.

"Why you in 'ere?"

"Because I punched the chief superintendent in the face."

Raz let out a high-pitched whoop, "Knew y'had it in yah!"

Alex shook her head and went to sit back down when Raz spoke up again, and she felt obliged to listen.

"I wanna get ou'a 'ere. Got a poker game in ten."

"You barely know how to tie your own shoelaces, there's no way you can play poker."

"Nah but I got this mate 'oo counts cards, dunnee," he did the stupid laugh again. "Bringin' it in big style."

Alex rolled her eyes, "Goodnight, Raz."

"Don't yah wanna get ou'?"

"Don't be stupid."

"I got a key."

"You're dreaming Raz, go lie back down," Alex said moodily, lying down herself.

"I ain't!"

She didn't reply, sick of him already.

"Fine then," he said. "Getting' ou' myself."

Alex was about to tell him to be quiet and sober up in silence when she heard the jingle of a key and the dull turn of a lock. Then the squeak of a cell door opening. Her mouth snapped shut and she bolted up, sprinting to the hole in the door.

Raz stumbled in front of it, shoving his face in the gap. He gave her a dopey grin.

"How did…? What…?" Alex said, flabbergasted.

He lifted up a keyring with two keys attached to it, "Opens these cells."

"Open mine," she demanded.

After a few misguided attempts at finding the keyhole, he finally managed to unlock the door and Alex stepped out into the corridor.

"Where did you get those keys from?"

He shrugged, "Can't remember."

"Raz!"

"Umm…"

Alex looked up the corridor cautiously, "Forget it for now, let's just get out."

It seemed like the effort of moving from one cell to the other had been too much for Raz, and by the time they got to the corner before the desk, Alex was supporting most of his weight.

"Whaddoo we do to the copper?" he slurred.

He was talking about the custody sergeant. Alex had been thinking the same thing. But, as she craned her neck around the corner, she caught sight of him hunched over his desk, head in the middle of his keyboard.

Alex propped Raz up against the wall and ran to the man, sliding her fingers under his chin to find his pulse. It was there.

"He's just unconscious," she said, frowning deeply. "What on Earth…?"

The faulty doors, the keys, the lack of officers, the unconscious desk sergeant, Raz just _happening _to be in the cell next to her. That was too much to be just a coincidence. Someone wanted her out, and it definitely wasn't Sherlock or Mycroft. That only left one other person. Alex swallowed.

Trying to keep herself calm, she lifted Raz's arm over her shoulder and continued to carry him out, wondering where she was going to go now.

* * *

><p><em>Richard Brook,<em> Sherlock fumed, holding the paper in his hands. _Rich Brook._

He had managed not to get blood on him again when their latest assassin had gotten shot, but John wasn't so lucky. He had a spatter on his neck and sleeve.

"This keycode," John said, trying to wrap his head around it. "How does it work?"

"It's a key that can break into any system," Sherlock said. "That's how he got into all those places. And now, he's planted it at the flat, which is why we have our current neighbours."

"Had," John corrected, thumbing at the blood on his coat. "And Richard Brook, who's Richard Brook?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Sherlock said, hopping up the step to Kitty Reilly's flat.

He picked the lock with ease and threw himself down on her sofa, sending John crashing down on top of him. He had forgotten about the handcuffs.

"Jesus, mate," John complained as he sat up, rubbing his wrist.

Sherlock took the pin he had used to unlock Kitty's door to undo the handcuffs. They were off in no time, and he threw them down on the coffee table, creating a small chip in the wood. What a shame.

The sound of a car parking up nearby made his ears prick.

"John, turn off the lights."

He did.

They sat in the dark, waiting for the heeled shoes to stop at the door. She had seen it was open. Slowly, she pushed it all of the way, and turned the light on. To her credit, she didn't even flinch as she looked casually at her two intruders.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asked.

Kitty merely smiled and sat down in her armchair, folding her long legs gracefully.

"Congratulations," Sherlock said. "The truth about Sherlock Holmes, the scoop everyone wanted."

"I gave you your opportunity. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so–"

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How _utterly_ convenient. Who is Brook?" Sherlock asked, getting straight to the point.

Kitty's smile fell a little and after a moment, she shook her head.

"Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés; those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your Dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets. What were his credentials?"

There was a scuffle outside of the door and suddenly Kitty wasn't listening to Sherlock at all. As the door opened, she stood up, concern etched across her features.

"Darling, they didn't have ground coffee so we just got normal–" the man stopped in the doorway, eyes going wide.

Rich Brook. Moriarty.

Sherlock stared as he dropped the shopping bags and backed away until he hit the stairs, falling back onto them.

"You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here," he said to Kitty, whimpering.

"You _are_ safe, Richard. I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

John finally found his voice, having broken out of his shock, "_That's _your source? Moriarty is Richard Brook?"

"And not just him. Where is he, Richard?" Kitty asked.

Moriarty pointed to the door, skirting around the wall and pulling someone else in. He pulled the figure to his chest, tucking their head under his chin protectively.

Sherlock's mouth parted in disbelief. He knew that shock of hair, that posture.

"Logan," he breathed, anger raging within him. "_Logan…"_

"You…" John trailed off, unable to find words.

Moriarty continued to hold him away from them, hugging him as tightly as possible. Logan stood, unresponsive.

"There _is_ no Moriarty. There never _has_ been," Kitty said smugly.

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"Look him up. Rich Brook – an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty. And his son, unfortunately dragged into it."

Moriarty looked up at John piteously, "Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man. Don't ... don't h... Don't hurt us."

"No, you are Moriarty! He's Moriarty! We met, remember? You tried to blow me up! And Alex, all of the things you've done to Alex!" John turned to Logan. "How could you do this to your friend? Eh? How could you do this to Alex? And you, to your own daughter!"

"She's not, she's not!" Moriarty cried. "I didn't want to do it, I really didn't, I didn't want to do all those things but he made me. I'm sorry. He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay? And Logan, he and Alex were friends at school. I know he's my son but we needed the money," he clutched Logan tighter. "Please understand, please."

"Sherlock, you'd better ... explain ... because I am not getting this."

"Oh _I'll_ ... I'll be doing the explaining – in print," Kitty said, handing John a copy of the newspaper. "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"Invented him?" John repeated incredulously.

Sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from Moriarty and Logan, not really paying attention.

"Mmm-hmm. Invented all the _crimes_, actually – and to cap it all, you made up a master villain and his niece's love who would only break her heart."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

"_Ask_ them. They're right here! Just ask them. Tell them, Richard, Logan."

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on _trial_!"

"Yes," she turned to Sherlock. "And you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West-End role but I bet the money was good," she walked over to Moriarty and Logan, wrapping her arm around them both like a mother and wife. "But not so good he didn't want to sell their story."

"I _am_ sorry. I _am_. I _am_ sorry," Moriarty said.

"So-so this is the story that you're gonna publish. The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?!" John shook his head. "Never."

"He _knows_ I am. I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, _show_ me something."

As soon as Kitty's back turned, Moriarty's face slipped from a look of terror to one of triumph as he grinned at Sherlock, and turned Logan so that he was facing them. The boy had changed so much, his eyes dark and jawline unshaven. As Kitty came back, Moriarty reverted back to Richard Brook and pressed a kiss to Logan's hair.

"I'm on TV. I'm on kids' TV. I'm The Storyteller," he said as John took his portfolio, showing every award and show he had been on.

"I'm ... I'm The Storyteller. It's on DVD," he held his hands out to Sherlock as if praying. "Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over. Just tell them. Just tell them. _Tell him! _It's all over now_."_

Taking just about as much as he could stand, Sherlock started towards him.

"NO!" Moriarty yelled, dragging Logan further up the stairs with him. "Don't you touch us, don't you lay a finger on us!"

"Stop it," Sherlock said furiously. "_Stop it NOW!"_

"Run," Moriarty said to Logan, grabbing his hand and pulling him up to the second floor. "Don't hurt us!"

"Don't let them get away," John shouted as both he and Sherlock scrambled to follow him.

"Leave them alone!" Kitty screamed.

Moriarty pushed Logan into the bathroom, before following him in and slamming the door. Sherlock yanked it open again, but the bathroom was empty, the blinds rocking in the soft breeze coming through the open window.

"He won't be far," John said, turning to run.

"No, no, no. He'll have back-up."

Sherlock walked back down the stairs and headed for the door. Kitty intercepted him.

"D'you know what, Sherlock Holmes? I look at you now and I can _read_ you. And you… repel… _me."_

Sherlock pushed past her and burst out onto the street, breathing in the crisp very early morning air.

"Logan, I…" John stopped, lost for words. "I did _not _see that coming."

"She forgave him," Sherlock murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Can he do that?" John asked. "Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story. That's what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."

"Your word against his."

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that's to…" he stopped, eyes glazing over in thought.

"Sherlock?"

"There's something I need to do."

"What? Can I help?"

"No – on my own."

* * *

><p>Alex had managed to find one of Raz's friends and palm him off on them, giving them instructions to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit or swallow his tongue, as he had finally fallen unconscious as they pounded the streets. She had managed to keep him awake for as long as possible by batting him with a rolled up The Sun, purposely ripping Kitty Reilly's face. The story she had written made Alex laugh until she realised what was being said, and to who – the mindless sheep of the general public. It was much better served as a batting tool.<p>

Now, she was stood without her coat, shivering as dawn broke, in the centre of London. She had no idea where they would be. She knew they wouldn't have gone back to the flat so soon, and they weren't with Mycroft… what if the police had found them? Or worse, what if Moriarty had found them?

She cursed herself for even thinking that, as the tightness in her chest and churning in her gut returned. She had to find them. She thought back to their conversation in the cab from the boarding school.

_They should have a shuttle bus for us from here to Bart's._

Alex immediately hailed a taxi and paid extra for him to go faster, even though she knew that it never worked. Thankfully, he seemed to see how urgently she needed to get there, and took to mounting the curb several times.

The car hadn't even stopped moving as she opened the door and ran out, sprinting down to the morgue as fast as she could, almost slipping on the linoleum. She barged through the doors to the lab and let out a soft cry as she saw Sherlock sat on the floor, bouncing a ball off the lab desk. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"You're supposed to be in a cell," he said, confused.

"So are you," she reminded him, still not letting go.

"Good point," he said and hugged her back, sensing her stress. "How?"

"Raz. Long story. Where did you two go?" she asked, letting go and giving John a smile.

Sherlock and John exchanged a look and Sherlock cleared his throat.

"We went to see Kitty Reilly."

"And?"

"Moriarty is Rich Brook."

Alex paused, "Was he there?"

"Yes."

"Did he… I mean, what did…?"

"He played his part well but… Alex," Sherlock looked over at John and nodded somewhat grudgingly.

John continued for him, "Logan was there."

Alex blanched, "What?"

"He was there with Moriarty."

"Was he okay? Has he hurt him?" Alex stood up frantically. "Where is he?"

"Listen–"

"Where is he, John?!" she turned to Sherlock. "You have to help him!"

"He was… he's in on it," John got out finally. "He is Rich Brook's son."

Alex shook her head, holding out her hand, "No, no, no, that doesn't make sense."

"He lied," Sherlock said.

"_No, _he _can't, _he…"

"I'm telling you, Alex. I'm sorry."

Alex walked over to the other side of the lab, blinking rapidly. She felt like she should be crying. She could feel it inside her, the swell of emotions, but the tears wouldn't come.

_They're saving themselves for later, _a voice said in her head, and Alex wished she'd listened.

Every time that voice told her not to trust, that she was being stupid, that she was making the wrong decision, it had been right. It had warned her about Logan and she'd ignored it.

But his mother, his _family! _The letter he sent! Had it all been one big façade? His family had died, she had been there, but was he faking the anguish he showed her? If not, why would he go with the people who did it? And Helen, was she in on it too?

Alex dropped onto one of the lab seats and mentally kicked herself. She had been such an idiot, every time. She had believed him and forgiven him over and over, given so much to him. A doormat, that's what she was. And he had been walking all over her ever since they had rolled down that hill together when they first became playground buddies. He hadn't been forced into it, that just fuelled the lie, made it more exciting for them.

John fell asleep on the desk, but she couldn't. She just stared, listening to the bouncing of the rubber ball Sherlock was playing with.

It was only until a few hours later that the silence was broken, by the sound of John's phone ringing. He groggily answered it.

"Yeah, speaking… err, what?" he quickly slipped off the stool, awake. "What happened? Is she okay? Oh my God. Right, yes, I'm coming."

He stuffed his phone in his pocket.

"What's wrong?" Alex asked. _Please not more bad news._

"Paramedics. Mrs Hudson – she's been shot."

Alex almost tripped over in her haste to run over to him, "_What?! _N-no! She… _What?!"_

"How?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract ... Jesus. _Jesus_. She's dying, Sherlock. Let's go."

"You go. I'm busy."

Alex rounded on him, "_Busy?"_

"Doesn't she mean anything to you?" John asked. "You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her."

Sherlock shrugged, "She's my landlady."

"She's _dying… _you _machi–_" he shook his head furiously. "No, sod this. Sod this, stay here if you want. On your own."

"Alone is what I have, alone protects me."

"No, friends protect each other."

And with that, John turned and pushed open the door, "Alex, you coming?"

She nodded, raising her hands at Sherlock in confusion.

"She'll be out in a few minutes," he said, confusing her further.

"I'll get a cab, don't be long," John said to her, and set off at a jog.

Alex watched him run and turned to face Sherlock, only to be engulfed in his arms. Startled at the sudden proximity, she tried to ask him what he was doing but he shushed her, holding her tighter.

"You're strong, Alex," he said, voice muffled by her hair. "You always have been and you need to be now."

"What?"

He took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders, "I love you."

"Why are you saying that?" the panic was doubling. It was hard to breathe.

"Because I do."

"But why are you saying this now?"

He cupped her cheek and kissed her head, then turned away quickly, like ripping off a plaster.

"You need to go to Mrs Hudson. Tell her get well soon from me."

"I will," Alex went to the door and paused halfway through opening it. "…I love you too, Sherlock. A lot."

He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a smile, "See you later, Alex."

"In a while… crocodile," she said, knowing he hated the phrase.

"Oh no," he groaned, but with a sad smile.

She laughed softly, and after a moment, sobered, "This'll be over soon."

"Yes."

"And we can go back to normal."

"… Yes."

She smiled, "Bye, then."

* * *

><p>The moment she left, Sherlock took out his phone to text his brother.<p>

**She's with John. She's going to see this. You were meant to make sure she didn't – SH**

Mycroft didn't reply, and Sherlock felt a new surge of hate for him. But it was too late now. There was no going back. No more debating whether or not to tell her what he was going to do. She wouldn't know. She would watch him die and after a while, she would recover and when he came back, they would go back to how it all used to be, only better. She could live without fear again.

Slowly, he made his way to the rooftop of Bart's. As he opened the door, music filled his ears.

Stayin' Alive.

Moriarty was sat on the edge of the roof, holding his phone in his palm. Sherlock walked over to him.

"Ah. Here we are at last – you and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem," he waved his phone. "Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it? It's just… staying…" he rubbed his head in his hands. "All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have _you_. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end it was easy," his face crinkled in disappointment. "It was easy. Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out _you're_ ordinary just like all of them," he looked up through his hands. "Oh well. I'll always have Alex. Did she almost start to wonder if I was real? Or did I nearly get_ you_?"

He stood up, pacing close to Sherlock.

"Richard Brook."

"No one seems to get the joke, but you do."

"Of course."

"Atta boy," Moriarty drew out.

"Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach – the case that made my name."

"Just tryna have some fun," he said in an American accent.

As he paced behind Sherlock, he tapped the rhythm he had left at the flat on his hand.

"Good," Moriarty praised. "You got that too."

"Every beat is a one; every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me; hidden inside my head – a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system."

"Told all my clients. Last one to Sherlock is a sissy."

Sherlock put a hand to his temple, "Yes, but now that it's up here, I can use it to alter all the records. I can kill Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty."

Moriarty looked up at him for a moment and cringed, "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy. This is too easy. There is no key, DOOFUS!" he shouted in Sherlock's face. "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless. You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears? I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock," he lumbered away, imitating him.

"But the rhythm?"

"'Partita number one.' Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach!"

"Then how did–?"

"Then how did I break into the Bank, to the Tower, to the Prison? Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants," he laughed. "I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness – you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. Glad you chose a tall building – nice way to do it."

"Do it? D-do what?" he blinked, recognition dawning on his face. "Ah, my suicide."

"'Genius detective proved to be a fraud.' I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales..." he looked over the edge with Sherlock. "And pretty Grimm ones too."

* * *

><p>John was the first one out of the cab at Baker Street, closely followed by Alex.<p>

"Where are all of the ambulances and police?" Alex asked, looking up the empty street.

"I don't know," John said, opening the door. "But–"

Both of them stopped stock-still at the sight of Mrs Hudson in the hallway, chatting with the builder. Alex immediately wrapped the old woman in a hug, laughing in relief.

"Oh hello, dearie," she smiled. "Are you okay?"

"Are _you? _Someone rang and said…" Alex turned to John, horror passing over both of their faces. "Oh God."

"You're faster than me, get that taxi back!" he shouted.

She wasted no time flagging it down, pushing in front of someone already waiting.

"Police," John said. "Sort of. St Bart's, hurry!"

* * *

><p>"I can still prove that you created an entirely false identity," Sherlock said, ignoring the racing traffic down below.<p>

"Oh kill yourself it's a lot less effort. Go on. For me. Pleeeeeease–"

Sherlock grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket, swinging him so that he was dangling off the edge, feet barely keeping him on.

"You're insane," Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"You're just getting that now?" Moriarty asked with a laugh, which gained pitch as Sherlock held him further off. "Okay, let me give you a little incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

"John."

"Not just John. Everyone."

"Mrs Hudson."

"_Everyone."_

"Lestrade."

Moriarty grinned manically, "Three bullets. Three gunmen. There's no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump. And then I walk away and pick up a very bloodied and upset little girl and see if I can't ease her pain. What's her favourite story?"

Snarling, Sherlock pulled him back onto the roof, running a hand through his curls.

"You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die and the closest person you have to a daughter will be broken... unless..."

"Unless I kill myself and complete your story," Sherlock mumbled.

"You've got to admit that's sexier," he said with a flare of his hand.

"And I die in disgrace."

"Of course, that's the point of this," he looked over to the ground below, at the small cluster of people milling around. "Oh, you've got an audience now. Off you pop. Go on. I told you how this ends. Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. _I'm_ certainly not gonna do it."

Shaking, Sherlock stepped up onto the ledge, looking down.

"Would you give me ... one moment, please; one moment of privacy?"

Moriarty did everything but roll his eyes in disappointment, "Of course."

He turned to walk away with a triumphant smile, hands in his pockets. Sherlock stared off into the city, watching it from a distance. Watching the people crossing the road and chatting and holding hands. He thought of Alex. It was never meant to happen like this. She was supposed to hear about it, not see it. Not again.

But then the thought struck him. The brilliant, obvious thought that he had overlooked and he began to laugh.

Moriarty turned sharply at the sound, "What? What did I miss?"

Sherlock hopped down off the ledge with a smirk, ""_You're_ not going to do it." So the killers _can_ be called off, then – there's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die, if I've got you," he sang.

"Oh!" Moriarty chuckled. "You think you can _make_ me stop the order? You think _you_ can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you."

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to."

"Yes, but I'm not my brother, remember?" Sherlock said harshly, pushing his face close to Moriarty's. "I am _you_ – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

"Naah. You _talk_ big. Naah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary – you're on the side of the angels," Moriarty looked at him in disgust.

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them," Sherlock said intensely, and Moriarty paused.

He stepped back, looking up at the detective as if seeing him in a new light.

"No, you're not. I see. You're not ordinary. You're me," he beamed, speaking softly, in a sort of reverie. "You're me! _Thank_ you! Sherlock Holmes," he held out his hand, and Sherlock took it. "Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends; you've got a way out… Well, good luck with that."

In one swift movement, he pulled Sherlock's hand towards him while grabbing a pistol from his waistband, placing the muzzle in his mouth and firing. Sherlock let out a cry of shock and stumbled backwards as Jim fell onto the gravel of the roof, a pool of blood seeping from the back of his head, surrounding him like a crimson halo.

Sherlock panted, heart pounding as he stared, then slowly turned to the ledge.

* * *

><p>"I don't know but he was acting strange," Alex said as they scrambled out of the taxi.<p>

"How?" John asked, practically running to the doors.

"I don't know, just – will you shut that phone up!" she said.

John took it out of his pocket, "It's him."

"Answer it!"

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" he frowned. "What? … Um, okay… Yeah, I'll get her," he grabbed Alex's arm. "He wants us to go back here."

"What? Ask him why."

"Sherlock?" he paused and looked up to the sky, face paling. "Oh God."

"What?" Alex demanded, trying to follow his line of sight but only being able to see the glare of the sun… wait… no… "W-why's Sherlock up there? John, why's he up there?"

"What's going on?" John asked into the phone, and Alex tried to read his expression while casting wary glances up to her uncle on the edge of the roof. "Wh-what? … Why are you saying this?"

"What's he saying?"

"He said everything's fake," John said, voice faint with disbelief. "That he made Moriarty up."

"Don't be stupid!" Alex raised her voice so he could hear her through the phone. "We know you didn't."

"Sherlock… Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the _first time we met_, you knew all about my sister, right?" John's voice was becoming thicker and Alex suddenly felt very sick. "… You could… all right stop it now…" John went to move forwards but stopped suddenly. "All right, all right… do what… leave a note when?"

Alex felt her eyes cloud, shaking her head at John, "What do you mean, why's he talking about notes?"

John turned to her, staring at her as Sherlock spoke to him, "… Okay, I'm passing it over now."

He handed Alex the phone and she took it, pressing it to her ear. She went to speak but she was shaking so much that it just sounded like noise until she manage to control herself.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" she whispered.

_"Alex, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to see this," _his voice was so choked, so tearful that it made more tears spring to her eyes, a few falling down her cheek.

"See what?" she asked, voice raw. "Sherlock please just come down. Please."

_"I can't. __I'm sorry."_

"No! No, everyone says they're sorry but they don't mean it," she said. "You get down here now and you take me home Sherlock Holmes because I'm scared and _you_ told me…" Alex looked down, taking a trembling breath and wiping away more tears. "You told me when mum died that you'd be the one to take me home when I was scared now, and I believed you."

_"You're not on your own, Alex. Please don't think you're ever on your own."_

"I won't be because you're gonna stop being stupid and get down here."

_"I'm not. I'm sorry. I love you."_

"You don't get to say that as a goodbye. That isn't going to be the last thing you say to me. I'm not going to hear that for a long time, Sherlock. A very long time."

_"It's all going to be okay, Alex. I promise."_

"Don't! You don't keep your promises."

_"I do."_

"You promised mum!" Alex yelled, pushing her hair out of her face as it clung to the tears on her cheeks. "I remember you promising that you would take care of me. That you'd do what she couldn't. But you're doing exactly what she _could! _You said you'd never do that to me."

_"Oh, Alex, please… you lost your mother and I'm sorry but you got better, and you'll get better after this."_

"No I won't! You're not my mum! You were more than she was! You were more than her and Mycroft and when she died you didn't give up on me even when nothing seemed like it would be right again," Alex sobbed, knees weak. "Please don't give up now."

_"… I have to."_

Alex put a hand to her mouth, stifling a cry, "This isn't happening," she whispered. "Please tell me this isn't happening. Not you. Not now. Please, Sherlock, I need you."

_"You don't. I made sure of that. You don't need me anymore, Alex. And please know that this isn't how I wanted it to be. I know you don't like goodbyes and I'm,"_ he gave a weak laugh._ "not overly fond of them myself."_

"Then don't do one," every inch of her was shaking, including her voice, which was thick with tears. "Please, I'm begging you. Don't leave me. Don't be like mum. Don't leave me, Sherlock, please."

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his crying evident through the phone, _"Goodbye, Alex."_

"NO!" she screamed, but he had already thrown the phone down. She tilted her head up to look at him, and John grabbed her hand as the silhouette Alex knew to be the person to raise her, her dad, brother, uncle, and best friend –

Fell.

She watched it, as he disappeared behind the ambulance building, as he hit the ground.

Alex felt herself floating. Like she was falling too. She couldn't see anything, or feel. She clenched her hand and vaguely processed the fact that John's wasn't there anymore, but that was it. Everything was numbed, slowed down, like everything was happening around her. People running. Crowding.

Then slowly it wore off, and the blurred images became sharper, became people, became buildings. And the sound of her shoes hitting the pavement, the sharp sting of wind on her bare arms as she ran. And then everything got clearer and closer and she was bleeding. No, she wasn't. Was she? She hurt. Everywhere. But it wasn't her blood. It was his.

"Oh God," she whispered, kneeling beside him.

A nurse tried to pull her away but Alex snatched her hand back and grabbed Sherlock's. It was limp.

"Tell me this isn't real," she whispered frantically, tapping his face. His sightless eyes stared up at her. "Say you're joking, I won't be mad, I promise. Say it's a joke. Wake up and tell me you're joking, please."

She reached for his neck, trying to find a pulse. She kidded herself into finding one, brushing away some of the blood from his face but only succeeding in smearing it.

"He's alive," she looked up at the person holding her shoulder – when did that happen? – with wide eyes. "He's alive."

John shook his head, tears in his eyes. He spoke roughly, on the verge of sobbing, "He's not, Alex. He's not."

The nurses lifted him onto a gurney and Alex tried to follow but they held her back apologetically. She was still knelt in his blood.

"John, they're taking him, you need to go with them. He needs… I…"

John opened his arms as he began to cry and wrapped them around Alex.

"He's gone, Alex. He's gone."

And that was when she fell apart.

* * *

><p><strong>I cried a lot writing that. I hope I haven't made anyone too upset.<strong>

**HUGE thank you to: shnuffeluv, RainbowSilenced, FlewandFlied, i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, POTC misty potter temple, purplechic13, and TheCurlyGal6218 for reviewing! **

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**X**


	112. Caring is Not an Advantage

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello, not a happy chappy obviously. Very dark, very angsty, and very sad, for obvious reasons. There will be one more chapter (possibly two depending on length) after this one before a time jump. The surprises aren't over yet, guys. **

**Enjoy: **

_Previously:_

_The nurses lifted him onto a gurney and Alex tried to follow but they held her back apologetically. She was still knelt in his blood._

_"John, they're taking him, you need to go with them. He needs… I…" _

_John opened his arms as he began to cry and wrapped them around Alex. _

_"He's gone, Alex. He's gone."_

_And that was when she fell apart._

He tried to get her to go to Mycroft's but she refused, getting in the cab and demanding to be taken to Baker Street instead. He had tried to reason with her but she seemed absent, staring at the back of the headrest in front, clenching her jaw over and over and blinking as her eyes filled with tears. She brushed away the ones that fell, and more took their place.

John thought that once they were back home, she would talk, but she didn't. She went straight over to the sofa, not pulling the blanket around her as she usually did, and curled up facing the wall. She didn't even react when Mrs Hudson came in crying, asking if it was really true.

Once she was gone, John sat down in his chair, trying to hold down the sob in his own throat. Gone. His best friend. Sherlock. Mirroring the acts of his late friend's niece, John wiped his eyes, waited, and wiped again.

"I keep thinking he's gonna come back," Alex said, breaking the silence after so long. "That I'm gonna find a note saying he's gone to Switzerland for a case and he's gonna be back in a few days and not to look in the fridge. This doesn't… doesn't feel real."

John didn't know what to say to that, and it seemed neither did Alex, for she didn't speak again.

* * *

><p>Mycroft came a few minutes after they arrived back and hesitated in the doorway before walking over to his niece. He sat next to her. She didn't respond.<p>

"Alex."

At the sound of his voice, saying her name, she thought back to the times she had been with them both, each trying to shamelessly outdo the other. She thought back to every time when she was young, back to when Sherlock rescued her when she broke the window at Mycroft's with the football, when he would refuse to read her normal bedtime stories and make his own up, Old Sparky and pirates. When she'd follow him everywhere, tugging on the back of his coat and annoying the life out of him. And when he'd always be there, even when her mother was sick and Mycroft was busy. He would be there. Always.

Always was a much shorter amount of time than Alex had planned.

"Alex, turn around," Mycroft said.

She shook her head, dislodging a tear. It trickled down her face and landed on her lips, turning them salty.

"Please."

She closed her eyes, "I want him to come back."

She had argued with Sherlock about him treating her like a child, but now she didn't care how childish she sounded.

"Come with me," he said, standing up and putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head again, "No."

"Why?"

"Because…" the words stuck in Alex's throat. "I… I-I don't want to. I just want to… to… s-s-stay here."

"You can't."

Alex glanced over to Sherlock's empty chair, "I'm not leaving."

Mycroft moved his hand from her shoulder to the back of her head, frowning down at her. He had never seen her look so sad, so _empty._

"I'll make sure she's okay," John said, voice breaking. It didn't dampen the glare in his eyes. "I promise."

Mycroft chewed his lip, "…Okay," he knelt down to Alex's height. "You call me, okay? I'll come back later."

She looked straight past his head. Sighing, he gave her shoulder a final squeeze and turned to John, saying quietly, "Don't let her leave."

He nodded.

Alex didn't realise Mycroft had left until John asked if someone wanted tea, and Alex didn't hear Mycroft answer. After an awkward stretch of silence, John asked again, adding her name this time. She nodded and he handed her a steaming mug. It was only when she wrapped her fingers around it that she realised they were stained with flecks of blood. She felt sick.

Slamming the mug down on the desk, Alex hurried to the bathroom, falling to her knees in front of the toilet and battling the urge to vomit. A few deep breaths later, she feeling subsided, but she couldn't look at her hands. She trembled and fell against the tiled wall, her sniffling amplified by the echo.

John knocked at the door but she hadn't closed it and he walked in, face softening. He pulled her up by the arms and led her over to the sink. As he lifted up her hands, she groaned and looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. She heard the run of water and John's ragged breaths as he washed away the blood from her skin, until the sink was red. She looked down at it. That was Sherlock's blood. _His _blood. That was his blood and he was dead. Sherlock was dead.

Alex turned in, burying her face in John's jumper and beginning to cry. He rubbed her back, and she felt him shudder as he silently sobbed too.

They stayed like that for what seemed to Alex like days, just crying into the jumper that smelled of cigarettes, even though Sherlock claimed to have stopped. They only pulled apart when there was a knocking at the door.

John rubbed his eyes, desperately trying to compose himself.

"I'll get it," Alex said, not caring that she looked like a corpse. She walked to the door and opened it to reveal Lestrade.

As soon as he saw her, he pulled her into a tight hug, "Alex, I'm so sorry."

She hugged him just as tightly back, feeling the wave of emotion rise in her again, and she hid her face in his shoulder, covertly wiping her eyes. He held her at arm's length and shook his head, his own eyes shimmering.

"Alex…"

"I'm fine," she said with a smile that was somehow more heart-breaking than her crying. "You want tea or…" she cleared her throat and turned away, walking over to the window before she broke down again.

"Milk, no sugar?" John asked quietly.

"I'll do it, mate," Greg said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Alex picked up her tea, now cold, and sipped it, trying to hold herself together. There was a speck of blood left under her fingernail. Once Lestrade had made his cuppa, he sat on the sofa, avoiding Sherlock's chair.

"I just can't believe it," Greg said. "I mean, Sherlock, gone…"

"He always seemed so invincible," John said, staring into his tea.

"That's what he got you saying," Greg said to Alex with a smile. "When you were sick, you were about, oohh, two? They thought you had meningitis and Sherlock insisted you were fine so much that you just sat up and said you were invincible, and you were fine."

John laughed, "I can imagine him saying that."

"Do you remember?" Lestrade asked her.

"No."

There was silence again but Alex couldn't bring herself to be ashamed.

"What happened to Moriarty?" she asked, without looking up from her mug of tea.

"Alex, you shouldn' –"

"He's dead isn't he?"

Lestrade sighed, "Yes… he shot himself."

Alex took a long, deep breath, "I'm going out."

John quickly stood to intercept her as she went to the door.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said, holding up his hands.

"I just, I need, I-I," her voice was croaky, and she coughed several times before she could speak. "I'm just gonna stand outside. Need some air, John."

"Here," Greg said, handing her her mug. "It's cold out there."

She took it, holding it loosely. She went to say goodbye but it sounded stupid in her head so instead gave a nod and a brief grimace before ducking out of the room and practically running down the stairs. She could hear Greg talking about her and shook her head as she ran, as if somehow that would disrupt the sound.

It was a relief to be out on the path, in the air. For a second, anyway. Then, she looked around the familiar street and suddenly it was too familiar. A barrage of memories hit her: welcoming John to the new flat for the first time, Sherlock throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her up to make her laugh, her chasing after him when he went to meet Moriarty for the first time, Sherlock running to her after the funhouse, making her feel safe and loved when she thought she never would be again.

That last one got her. She remembered the agony and the fear and how he just made it go away instantly. Who would do that now? Who would she _allow _to do that now?

No one. She knew that. No one was capable of doing that, not even Mycroft.

"Alex," a hand touched her arm. She smelt alcohol and immediately knew who it was. "Alex, it's me. I 'eard what happened."

She looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and heavy. He recoiled at the sight of her.

"I ain't seen you look this bad since your – uh, sorry," Raz cut himself off awkwardly. He looked awake and sober, though she knew he wasn't completely. Perhaps it was the shock that had jolted him out of whatever influence he was under. "I'm so sorry. I know what 'ee meant to you."

Alex's breath rattled in her chest and she nodded at him, clamping her teeth together as she felt the impulse to cry again. His hand was still on her arm.

"I should'a been there for you, all these years."

"And I you," Alex managed to say without a tremor.

He rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably, "I just want ya to know, I'm 'ere. Can't be easy for you. Your other uncle… oh what's he called… Mycroft, that's it. Is Mycroft gonna step in?"

Alex gave him a half-shrug, eyes glassy in thought, "I haven't thought about it. I mean, it's not like I'm a kid anymore."

"I reckon Mycroft will want ya to live with 'im."

A sudden thought stuck Alex, "He's an only child now… Mycroft, he's – h-h-he's lost his sister _and _his brother now," she looked at Raz fleetingly. "It was so similar. When I watched… they both looked the same…" she frowned. "I did the same thing. After mum, a-after I hesitated… I said I never would again," her eyes flashed. "I did exactly that. I froze, _again, _while they died, _again. _It's like every single person I love gets killed or kills themselves. It's like I'm… cursed."

"Nah, nah, Al', you ain't cursed. I know he was your uncle–"

Alex cringed at the use of the past tense, "He was more than that. He wasn't just my uncle, Raz, and you know it," she turned to him accusingly. "Who was it I called that Halloween when we were stuck in that man's bathroom?"

"Sherlock."

"And who was it I demanded when we found that body at Clover's Footbridge?"

He sighed, "Sherlock."

"And who did I tell Mrs Duarte to ring every time I was in trouble at school?"

"Sherlock, but–"

"_NO!" _Alex shouted, throwing her mug onto the pavement, not paying any attention as it shattered. "He wasn't '_just' _anything! He did _everything _for me, everything he ever did. He tried so hard even when I hated him and he hated me. And I know now that whenever he upset me or made me angry, it was to protect me. Tell me you know anyone else who has done that for me before. Huh? Not you, not Lee, not Logan, or Mycroft, or Mum… He was the only one who I never thought would leave me, because he saw what losing Mum did to me and now… now he's gone and done the same," her face crumpled, and Raz pulled her to his chest.

She clung to his hoodie, trying not to scream as she wanted to, for fear of alerting John and Greg. He rubbed her back.

"Anything you need, Al'. Anything," he said.

Alex looked up the street, every brick and every paving slab shining with memories, and decided.

"Just get me out of here."

* * *

><p>This part of the pub was quiet. The lightbulb above them had been broken, so it was darker than the rest of the room, which Alex was grateful for. Raz had gone to get her a drink. She didn't ask to go there, she was just glad he was taking her away. She hadn't really fully processed where they had been going but now, she found she didn't care.<p>

Raz returned with a glass full of cola. He slid it across the table and she caught it dully.

"Thanks," she muttered, and almost gagged as she tasted it. "What's in this?"

"Vodka."

She gave him a look but it was half-hearted. Alcohol was meant to dull people's thoughts. She could do with a bit of that right about now. She took another swig.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Raz asked.

"I don't know. I don't want to stay there," she said. "I don't think I can anymore. It'll be a matter of time before John can't either. It'll be easier for him to leave if I'm not there holding him down."

She took a long, large gulp of her drink and made a face before drinking some more. It tasted disgusting and didn't seem to be working. When she told Raz this, he told her it just takes more. So she got another one.

"You can stay with me," he offered. "Tonight, obviously."

"Where you living?" she asked, still not feeling the effect. But just listening to Raz talk was distracting her enough.

"Livin' with three mates. Bit of a dump but it's 'ome. And the woman in the flat above just moved out so we can play music pretty loud without getting kicked out."

"Are they nice?"

"My mates? They're alright. Won't try anythin' on with ya if that's what you're worried about."

Alex shook her head, getting to the bottom of her other drink.

"Thirsty?"

"It's still not working, Raz," she said almost pitifully. "It still hurts."

He gave her a sympathetic smile and hoisted her up, "I know what'll do the trick."

"What?"

"Something a bit stronger. You ever had some of the shots from 'ere?"

"No, of course not."

"Come on, I'll get some for us."

"Ask for mine in a pint glass, will you?"

* * *

><p>"S'good job you look older than you are," Raz said, supporting her arm as he led her back to the table.<p>

Alex fell back into her seat with a thump, folding her arms on the table and resting her chin there. She hiccupped.

"Feelin' better?" he asked.

She peered up at him blearily, "I-I… I don't… I don't know."

"Do you still feel sad?"

"Yeah, I think so," she said carefully.

"Why? You remember why?"

"Well, 'cause Sherlock's dead, isn't he?" she raised her eyebrows, surprised at how easily it slipped out. "He's dead. Huh. That's why I feel sad. I thought it might be 'cause barman said I was famillili…" she scrunched up her nose. "How you say it?"

"Familiar."

"Yeah, that one. Said I was familiar 'cause I was in the paper for something. Does everyone know 'bout Sherlock, Razzy?"

"It's all over the news. Has Logan not called, I would've thought he'd have seen?" Raz asked.

Alex struggled to find her phone in her pocket, knocking a beermat on the floor as she did so. She finally found it and turned it on. It started to vibrate as notifications came through. She narrowed her eyes. All the text was blurry. She stuck it in Raz's face.

"You read that?"

He titled it back and his eyes widened, "You've got fifty-three missed calls from Mycroft, thirty from John, and twenty-five from Greg, whoever that is. Shit. None from Logan, though."

At the sound of the name, Alex slammed her fist down on the table, having not heard it the first time, "Logan is a DICKHEAD!"

A couple sat near them turned around in surprise and Raz swore at them to mind their own business.

"What you mean Logan's a dickhead? Thought you and 'im were still tight."

"Wish it was him that jumped off that bloody roof."

"You don't mean that."

Alex groaned and put her head in her hands, "I don't know what I'm _doing, _Razzy. Wanna go to bed."

"You gonna ring all those people back?"

"No, we'll go round. Need to get some clothes and stuff. Tell them what we're doing when we're there," Alex said, getting unsteadily to her feet. "Come on."

Raz hurriedly rushed to grab her arm, "I don't think lettin' 'em see you like this is gonna go down well. For both of us."

"Shut up," she said, pulling him to the door. "Come _on._ I need some clothes 'cause I spilt my drink down these ones."

"I'll get us a cab," Raz said, supporting most of her weight.

"No," Alex mumbled. "Feel sick. We'll walk."

"It's a bloody long walk back to yours, Al'."

"Don't care."

Raz rolled his eyes but dutifully stepped away from the curb and lowered his hand, "Try to make it all the way, please, I ain't gonna carry yah."

It was dark now, and the air bit at Alex's bare arms. But it didn't feel too bad. It was just like a cool breeze, even though she knew it was much, much colder. She managed to keep walking with Raz's help.

"Razzzzzy?" she drew out.

"Yeah?"

"Will you marry me?"

He blinked at her, "What?"

"Marry me."

He sighed, "Yeah, alright."

"'Kay. Ooh, we're back aren't we?" she gazed up at the window. The light was on and the blinds drawn.

She tottered forwards and opened the door, ushering Raz in with a finger to her lips, "Shhhh, they're still awake."

Raz looked terrified.

"What you looking like for?" she asked with a frown, beginning to ascend the stairs. She lost her balance on the third one and he had to rush forwards to catch her. It took more effort than they thought: he was rather drunk too.

With each other's help, they managed to get to the top and were outside the living room door when Alex suddenly felt dizzier than she had before.

"Razzy, I don't feel very well," she mumbled, holding out her hand to grip the wall.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the wall she gripped, but the handle of the living room door. With her full weight against it, it swung open, sending Alex crashing onto the living room floor, and Raz – who had tried to stop her – falling on top.

"Alex! Where the hell have you been?!" an angry voice shouted, but she couldn't discern who it belonged to.

Raz groaned as someone dragged him up, and then she felt hands on her, pulling her up to stand. Her vision swam and she moaned. She still didn't know who was speaking. She couldn't make out their face.

"Did you do this to her?" she heard someone say… what was his name…? Um… Greg, yeah that's the one! "You know she's underage."

"She got served!" Raz protested. "Not my fault! She would be stuck there if I wasn't for me!"

"Which bar?"

"I don't…"

"Which bar, kid?"

Raz mumbled something Alex didn't hear, but she assumed it was the name of where they had been all night.

"Go home," John said, holding open the door for the boy. "Go on."

"Gladly," Raz muttered, and left with Lestrade.

Then all attention was on her. Brilliant.

Slowly beginning to come to her senses, she realised the person holding her up was Mycroft, who was looking at her with a very troubled expression. John was too, and made her sit in his chair. She didn't resist. Suddenly a glass of water was in her hand. She took a drink. It tasted weird. She said so.

"Probably because you've been drinking so much alcohol," Mycroft said. She couldn't tell if he was angry or _just disappointed. _"Do you know how much?"

She narrowed her eyes, "I think… a lot. Yeah, a lot. The little ones didn't taste good but they make me feel funny."

"Do you feel sick? Headache?"

She shrugged.

"I understand why," Mycroft said, keeping a firm grip on her shoulder. "But this isn't the way to deal with grief. Surely you must know that. And going off with that boy _anywhere _is a bad idea."

Alex tuned out of what he was saying as he continued his lecture. She was sat in John's chair. That was opposite Sherlock's. She couldn't take her eyes off it. His violin was propped up against the leg. A book he had been reading was open page-down on the arm. He was halfway through. He wouldn't know how it ended.

* * *

><p>She didn't realise she had started crying until much later when her throat was raw and cheeks blotched, and her eyes felt like sandpaper. Someone had taken her up to bed. She had been sick, too, that much was evident from the bowl beside her pillow. Her head either hurt from the drink or the crying.<p>

She wondered if she had passed out, but that didn't make sense, because she could remember everything. Well, maybe not _remember. _Maybe faintly recall. Her mind had been somewhere else but her body was still receptive. That was how she knew she didn't sleep. She just stared.

It was morning. Late morning or early morning, Alex didn't care. The sun was up.

It was time to go.

She took the tablets someone had left for her on her bedside table. There was a note underneath.

_Don't do this again. It'll get better._

She read it, read it again, and binned it. She then took her empty suitcase from the bottom of her wardrobe and threw some clothes in. She was quite a sentimental person, but now it seemed like nothing mattered anymore. She left trinkets people had bought her on their travels, left old childhood toys including her favourite teddy, left her books, and the photo album. Well, she tried to. Instead, she flipped it open to the page she wanted and slid a photograph out of the sleeve, folded it, and put it in her pocket.

Then she carried the bag to her door and looked back. She couldn't tell the difference. She had left so much that it just looked like she was going out for the day. No one would know that she wouldn't be coming back at all.

The room was haunted. The _flat _was haunted. And she needed to leave, just like she had needed to leave her house after her mother died.

The bag was light and she carried it over her shoulder down the stairs and placed it in front of the front door. She then quietly walked back up to the living room, about to open the door and say goodbye to John, when she heard Mycroft's voice. Had he stayed all night?

She listened.

"I just don't know how," John said. He sounded upset.

"Because she's my niece."

"No, I'm not talking about that. I'm wondering how you could stand there and comfort her, tell her that she's wrong when you're the reason behind it."

Alex frowned.

"Oh and I should tell her that, should I?" Mycroft scoffed. "She's lost too much already."

"We all have… I'm not going to tell her if that's what you're worried about. I wouldn't do that."

"John, I had no choice."

"Don't you dare give me that. Of course you had a choice. You could have chosen to protect your family, Mycroft. You betrayed them. You betrayed Alex and she's never going to know."

Alex tried to quieten her breathing, pressing her ear against the door. Was this some kind of drunken, feverish dream? She dug her nails into her palm and felt the sting. This was real.

"And that's the way it's going to stay. I'll wait until she wakes up and packs, and then she's coming with me. Clearly you can't be trusted to ensure her safety."

She heard a ruffle of fabric. John standing up.

"_Me?" _he said indignantly. "_I _can't be trusted with her safety. I'm sure you had her _safety _at heart when you spilled Sherlock's life story to Moriarty. You're the reason he's dead, Mycroft. You handed Moriarty the loaded gun, did you really expect him not to fire it? So don't you dare stand there and lecture me about me not being responsible. You are single-handedly responsible for the death of your brother, the death of my best friend, and the death of the closest thing your niece had to a father."

Alex couldn't help her gasp, recoiling from the door like it had bitten her. She backed up until she hit the wall, eyes wide. The article. Richard Brooke. Without him, without that story, no one would have believed Sherlock was a fraud. None of this would have happened.

At the sound of her gasp, everything in the room inside fell silent. After a few seconds, the door opened, and, seeing her, Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, clenching his jaw. John stared at her in shock.

"You… Did you do what…? Did you… did you do that?" Alex asked, on the verge of screaming.

"Alex, you have to listen to me," he reached forward to touch her arm and she flinched away, turning so that she was at the top of the stairs. "I had to–"

"You did it," she breathed, shaking her head. "You did it. This is your fault. You… oh my God…"

"Please, Alex, calm down–"

"That's why you told John and me about those killers. Is that when you realised what you'd done? _Is it?!" _she demanded.

He paused and then hung his head, "Yes, but–"

"YOU IDIOT!" Alex screamed. "That was _weeks _ago! You could have stopped it then! You could have warned us, just told us what you'd done instead of waiting until… How could you think it was good idea in the first place? You told him _everything _about Sherlock, _everything! _And then _you let him go!" _

"I know, but–"

"Don't try to worm your way out of this one, Mycroft! You can say anything you like but it doesn't take away the fact that you could have told us," Alex bit down on her lip, feeling her eyes mist. "You could have told us when you first realised, before everything went wrong," she furiously wiped away her tears, laughing wryly. "But oh no, God forbid Sherlock see you've made a mistake, that'd be too much of a blow to your ego, wouldn't it? Well you don't have to worry about that anymore do you? Because he's _dead."_

Mycroft, for once, didn't say anything. He seemed to be trying to formulate an appropriate answer, but was failing.

"My bags are downstairs," Alex said, shaking with anger. "I'm not staying with you and I'm not staying here."

"Where are you going?" John asked quietly.

"To a friend's. Anywhere away from here," her face softened at John. "I suggest you do the same."

"We need to talk about this before you start behaving rashly," Mycroft said.

"No," she turned and walked down the stairs. She heard him follow her. "You can't change my mind."

"Let me help you."

"You've done enough," she slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the door.

The wind outside picked up her hair and she brushed it back, motioning for a cab.

"I'll drive you to wherever you…" he trailed off, seeing she wasn't listening to him as a cab pulled up beside her.

She opened the door and threw her bag inside. He grabbed her arm, holding it in a grip too tight for her to pull away from.

"Wait, please," he said. "Come back with me, we'll sort this out."

Alex looked up at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, "Can you bring him back?"

He went to speak, then stopped himself, swallowing.

"Then don't bother," she said, slipping into the backseat of the cab. "Stay away from me, Mycroft."

She slammed the door and told the cab driver Raz's address. He asked if she was okay. She said she was fine. She was so used to that lie. She had a feeling those words would be her best friend for an awfully long time now.

* * *

><p>She took out what money she owned for herself, not what Mycroft had given her over the years. It was mostly from cases that they had split three ways. Only a little, but she only wanted a little. The vacant flat about Raz's was hers in a heartbeat. She said it would only be for a few weeks until she got her head sorted out but she wasn't sure if that was true.<p>

The flat had three rooms: the main room, which was about the size of the kitchen in 221B, the bedroom, which was the size of the bathroom in 221B, and the bathroom, which was the size of the cupboard in 221B.

"Shower don't work," the woman showing her around said. "Just baths. But you can't use too much water or you'll run out. Hot only works for a bit."

The bath was stained a horrible yellow colour, and the plastic had fractured. A mouldy curtain hung around it. The sink was in the same condition, and Alex didn't dare look at the toilet.

The bedroom wasn't much better. Apparently the last occupant broke the bed, so the room was completely empty.

The main room had a few fold-up chairs and a tiny kitchenette, with mouldy countertops and rusty fridge. None of the rooms were carpeted and the walls were bare.

"It ain't luxury," the woman said. "But if you only want it for a bit then I suppose it's okay."

Alex nodded, "I just need to work through some stuff and I can do that better on my own. Soon as I've done that I can get on with my life."

The woman obviously didn't know what to make of her cryptic answer and just gave her a smile, "I expect the first payment on Tuesday. My husband will be up to collect it."

She handed Alex the key, "Any questions, just ask."

"Thanks," Alex said.

The woman left, closing the door behind her. Alex looked down at the key in her hand, then up at the damp-infested walls and boarded up window, then back down to the key.

Home sweet home.

Raz came up around dinner time, offering her a slice of pizza. She declined. The easy-pack chairs were surprisingly comfortable, and he sat with her for an hour, in which neither of them spoke much. Then, itching for something to drink, Raz disappeared temporarily, and brought a few bottles up.

Alex thought back to the note on her bedside table, and to John and Greg and Myc… But then she focussed on the churning in her stomach, that agony that was bubbling in her chest. She closed her eyes and saw flashes of a falling figure, screams that she knew to be hers, the way his hand was weak and slippery when she held it. Like water, trickling away.

She took a bottle and downed it. Wordlessly, she picked up another one. And another. And another. Until she, again, lost count.

It sanded down the hurt.

* * *

><p>It was morning again. Alex didn't know when that had happened. She was still in the chair and Raz had gone. The floor was littered with cans, and one of the bottles had smashed, creating a little puddle of shattered glass. Alex, careful not to stand on it, went to the bathroom, trying not to look at it too much as she washed her face.<p>

She then found her phone in her bag and took it out. She had several texts and calls from various people again, but not to the proportion she had had the previous night.

**Where are you, Alex? I just want to speak to you. I didn't want you to find out like that. Listen, I know exactly what you're feeling right now because I'm feeling it too. Just don't do anything stupid, okay? If you don't want to call me, that's fine. Just, please text me back – J**

**Why have you just rented a flat like that? It isn't fit for an animal. Come home – MH**

**Alex, you haven't responded. Do I need to assume you're in trouble? – MH**

**I've called you numerous times now. Answer me – MH**

**I understand that you're angry but there's nothing we can do now. Just come home so you can grieve and then get better – MH**

Texts like that made Alex wonder if Mycroft even cared about Sherlock at all. They seemed so cool and detached, focussing on her moving on even though he had only been gone a matter of days. He was talking like Sherlock had just gone on a long holiday, not died.

There were others from him, all basically saying the same thing. There were a few from Lestrade.

**I heard you've got MIA again. You can come to me if you want to talk. It's fine if you don't want to and it's fine if you want to be alone, but drop a text to John and Mycroft saying you're alright will you? They're worried – G**

**Don't you be out anywhere you shouldn't be. I have a few eyes in a few different areas looking out for you. It's for your own good, kid – G**

She stopped scrolling through them. They made her stomach clench with another feeling_. _That was all she needed. _Feelings. _She was swimming with them, and none of them positive. She needed to divorce herself from them, drown them out. It would get rid of so much pain.

As soon as she thought it, a memory flashed in her mind.

_Sherlock's hand was shaking, clutching the glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes were full and rabid._

_"Always been able to keep myself distant… divorce myself from… _feelings. _But look," he held out his trembling hand. "My body's betraying me."_

Sherlock had always been so composed, so clever, so majestic, until that moment. The moment his body betrayed him. The moment he started to feel. Suddenly Alex forgot about all of the good things that had come from Sherlock's lapses in coldness, and focussed on that terrified face, with tears clinging to his lashes. That was what happened when people like him, people like her, allowed themselves to feel. They fell apart.

Alex set her jaw.

No. She wouldn't let that happen to her. They had been right all along. Caring wasn't an advantage. Sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side. This was what sentiment did. This clawing in her gut. The constant feeling of tears being just a blink away.

But she didn't know how to stop it. No one had taught her.

She glanced down at the shards of glass peppering the floor. Or maybe she had been taught. Because if you can't remember, you can't feel.

Alex unlocked her phone and called Raz. He answered, groggy and hungover.

_"Wha', man?"_

She didn't know what to say. She just listened to him groan and realised that the boy she thought would never be able to teach her anything, had just taught her how to survive. He ended the call but she didn't mind. He had shown her the answer. He had shown her how to not remember, how to not feel. What did it matter that her family didn't approve?

"Caring is not an advantage," Alex whispered. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side."

And, as she looked back on every nightmare in her life, every horror that made her cry and scream, they all had one common denominator: sentiment.

She was very aware of the bottle of cider on the floor by the window as she thought.

_I know how I can fix that._

Slowly, as the day went on Raz and his friends came and went, she forgot. She forgot about Sherlock, about May, and John, and Mycroft, and Greg, and Molly, and Mrs Hudson, and 221B, and St Bart's, and staircases.

She forgot how to feel. And that was how she knew she was going to get through this.

* * *

><p><strong>:( I've had this all planned out since I first uploaded chapter one but it was still very hard to write. I felt that this would be the route Alex would take considering everything she's been through, the influence of her only remaining friend (Raz), and Sherlock and her mother's past (bit of a May hint there).<strong>

**There's some dark times coming up for Alex, unfortunately. But, we know it won't last ;)**

**HUGE thank you to: i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, kuppcake, the musical bender, shnuffeluv, FlewandFlied, POTC misty potter temple, emilybrock101, Guest, simplemusings12, purplechic13, mysteryasgardian, DerekHaleSiriusBlack1103, Xenon Scorpia, TheCurlyGal6218, AnotherDamnMexican149, RainbowSilenced, Guest, and MeganChloe for reviewing!**

**Honestly the feedback from the last chapter (though many of you were threatening to kill me, etc.) was absolutely amazing and all of you who reviewed, I just want to thank you so much for encouraging me and making me smile so much. It makes the RSI in my fingers and wrists and the hours I spend hunched over my desk so worth it, haha! :D**

**And for those of you who need some Alex fluff, I will try to upload a new Little Innocent chapter soon. **

**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby  
>X<strong>


	113. The Slope

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello! Exams are killing me. I apologise. _But _I am still writing and I have a couple of Little Innocent chapters to publish soon so look out for them. Also, I have a question for you all. Some of you have been asking me to write about May when she first met Moriarty and I was wondering if you guys thought it would be a good idea? It would be a separate story? Sort of a prequel to Little Innocent? I would probably write it all first (making Exception my priority) so you wouldn't have to wait ages between updates, so it wouldn't be published for quite a long time. I just want to see what you think. Let me know in a review or pm :)**

**The time jumps shall be in the next chapter.**

**Trigger warning in this chapter for substance abuse.**

**Strong language.**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She was very aware of the bottle of cider on the floor by the window as she thought._

_I know how I can fix that._

_Slowly, as the day went on Raz and his friends came and went, she forgot. She forgot about Sherlock, about May, and John, and Mycroft, and Greg, and Molly, and Mrs Hudson, and 221B, and St Bart's, and staircases._

_She forgot how to feel. And that was how she knew she was going to get through this._

The knock at the door was one she recognised. Three sharp raps.

She groaned aloud to herself and tried to pull herself up off the floor, using the window sill for support. On her way over to the door, she tripped on one of the many bottles littering the floor, and ended up falling into the arms of her visitor.

"Alex, what are you…" Mycroft trailed off, staring past her and looking at the state of the flat. "Oh God."

Registering exactly who it was that was currently holding her up, Alex pushed away from him, stumbling and again clutching the window sill. She hadn't stopped drinking until sunrise, when she had passed out.

"Piss off, Mycroft," she drawled, her face a mirror image of a young May and her voice a perfect imitation of Sherlock.

"I've come to make you see sense and come home," he said, but he didn't look her in the eye, still sweeping his gaze over the room, no doubt deducing every inch of it.

Alex cocked her head in mock thought, "Hmm, no."

"Alex," he looked at her now. "I know you're in pain, we all are–"

"You seem to be doing very well."

Mycroft ignored her, "John is mourning the loss of Sherlock and now worrying about you in a place like this. If not for me, do it for him."

"I don't care about John," Alex said with a shrug. "And neither do you. You're just trying to manipulate me into doing what you want me to. I'm not stupid, Mycroft, now leave me alone."

He shook his head at her, "Not stupid, hmm?" he pointed to a sizeable pile of bottles by her chair. "Drinking yourself into this state isn't stupid?"

"The situation warrants it."

"'The situation–'" Mycroft repeated in disbelief. "Alex, this could kill you. Have you learnt nothing from Sherlock and your mother?"

"It's alcohol, for the love of God! It's not heroin! And it's how I'm coping."

"This is not coping."

"Yes it is. Now get out," Alex hissed.

"I can force you back if I need to."

"No you can't. Know why?" Alex walked up close to him, her steps uneven and wobbly. "Because if I have to go back with _you, _I don't think even alcohol would be able to get me through," she stared unflinchingly into his eyes. "I might _have_ to take something a little stronger."

Mycroft grasped her shoulder. It wasn't comforting or even controlling. It was almost desperate.

"Don't. You. Dare."

She stepped away from him and tripped on the same bottle, this time landing on her hands and knees. He instinctively went to help her up, and she recoiled, pushing herself against the wall.

"When Sherlock threw himself off that roof, he said that he made sure I wouldn't need him anymore. Probably meant that I have you. But I've got news for both of you, I don't need or want anybody. All that brings is pain. So turn around and walk away, delete my number, and forget about me, because God knows that's what I'm doing to you," Alex said gruffly, glaring up at him.

Mycroft looked down at her, clenching his jaw, "You don't mean that. I know you. Don't tell me if I walked out of here and never came back, you'd never think about me again."

Alex's voice was cold and hard as granite as she spat, "I couldn't give a damn. You can jump off that fucking roof too for all I care. In fact, why don't you give it a try? Make it a full set."

Everything went suddenly very silent, and very dark. Alex became hyperaware of the spider scurrying across her floor and watched as it hid underneath the broken skirting board. She didn't look back at Mycroft.

"The funeral is tomorrow," he said quietly. "Will you be there?"

"No."

"You'll regret it."

"I won't. Now get out."

He bit his lip, not meeting her eye as he deliberated. A long minute later, he finally nodded.

"Alex… promise me you won't do anything stupid," at her lack of response, he added. "_Please_."

"I'm not promising that."

"You have to."

"I don't have to do anything when it comes to you."

"I raised you," he said in a pathetic bid to make her see.

Alex scoffed and held her arms out to the flat, "Evidently not well enough!"

Obviously trying to take a different approach, Mycroft walked back towards her, voice soft and understanding, "I know this isn't what you want. I know it isn't. Let me help you."

For a beat, Alex just stared, then slowly began to shake her head, "You must think I'm so _stupid," _she shoved him back. "Get out," she pushed him again. "Out!"

He held up his hands in surrender, "Okay, I'm going! I'm going!"

"You don't ever listen, do you?!" Alex yelled, opening the door and pushing him into the corridor. "I don't want anything to do with you. You're no one to me. And I want to be no one to you."

"Well I can't do that."

"Learn to!" Alex said, her parting blow, and slammed the door. As soon as she did, she sagged against it, fighting the impulse to cry. She needed to so badly. She needed to scream and get rid of all of the tears that kept coming in waves. But she couldn't.

She needed another drink.

* * *

><p>Alex slept away the day, only waking up long enough to take another swig of whatever it was Raz kept supplying – and taking the money from her purse for – before falling back to sleep again. The nightmares were worse than they had ever been before, but Alex didn't wake up crying or shaking as she used to. Her eyes just opened and looked at the damp stains on the ceiling, then found their way to her supply. She drank, stared, slept. Repeat.<p>

Until the next morning.

It was the day of the funeral. Alex hoped that the drink might make her forget what Mycroft had told her – it had made her forget so much else – but those words stuck with her, and as did the significance of the date. She checked her phone for the time and saw that it would just be starting.

Sherlock would be in a coffin now.

Alex took a long drink.

It would be dark inside. Not that he would care. He was dead. And his eyes would be closed.

She finished off the last bit in the bottle and grabbed another.

They would carry him out, and everyone would be there. Mycroft, John, Grandma and Grandad, Greg, Molly, Mrs Hudson. They would all be stood around as they lowered him into the ground.

Alex got to the bottom of that one desperately.

… Would he be buried next to Mum?

With an anguished moan, Alex crawled to her feet and staggered to the door, throwing it open. She didn't bother to lock it, or even shut it, behind her as she went to Raz's flat, banging on the door as hard as she could. She pressed her face against it, holding in a sob.

They would be talking about him now. Telling people about his life. There would be a funny anecdote. A moving tribute. Who would be doing the eulogy?

The door opened, and for the second time, she fell into someone's arms. Thankfully, it wasn't Mycroft. Just a stoned boy she had never met before. Small mercies.

"Alex, right?" he asked, still holding on to her.

"R-Raz here?" she whispered, clinging on to his hoodie.

"Nah he went out. You okay?"

Alex forgot who she was talking to, forgot where she was, and began to cry, "I've tried drinking, I've drank so much but it's not working anymore. I need it to stop."

The boy helped her over to the corner of the room, where a stained mattress sat. He lowered her down onto it as her legs gave out and she curled into a ball, trembling.

"You just lost your uncle, didn't you? Raz told me."

"I've lost everything," she whimpered, muffled by the mattress.

The boy was quiet for a moment, obviously trying to decide whether or not to say something. After a few seconds of conflict, he put a bony hand on her back.

"Don't tell Raz, but I can make it stop."

Alex sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand without lifting her head up from the mattress, "How?"

"I'll be back in a second."

Alex didn't see where he went, and buried her face back into the mattress, letting out another heaving cry. Would they still be reading the eulogy? She wondered what Sherlock would think of it, whether he would be sat there scoffing and rolling his eyes. God, she wished she could speak to him. She wished with everything she had that she could just speak to him one last time.

"Back," the boy said, and she felt him kneel next to her. "Give me your arm."

She didn't pay attention as he grabbed her arm and untwisted it. She only registered what was happening when she felt a sharp pain in the crook of her elbow.

"No, stop!" she shouted, sitting up and trying to pull away.

She slapped his hand away and pulled the needle from her arm, breathing heavily.

That was when it hit her.

Warmth spread through her veins, and the knot of anxiety and grief in her chest slowly unwound. She fell back and the boy made her lie down again. Everything began to move, swirl, like someone dropping a pebble into a puddle. All of her limbs felt so heavy, like her blood had turned to lead, coming to a halt inside her body. She could feel her blood. Could she always feel that?

She was so tired.

And sick. She felt sick.

Someone was turning her over as she vomited. She hoped that wouldn't make it stop. She didn't want this to stop. She didn't feel like crying. She just felt like a body. Emotionless, yet somehow happy. Invariably happy.

But she was so tired.

"Go to sleep," a distant voice said. It was that boy. The boy who had given her this brilliant gift.

He knew what he was doing, so she closed her eyes.

And dreamed.

* * *

><p>It was so real that Alex had to remind herself that she was dreaming. She could feel everything, see every little detail. Even the creak of the floorboards were as real as they ever were. She began to climb the stairs up to 221B, stroking the bannister. She had dreamt of going back almost constantly since she left, and each turned out to be a nightmare. But she felt this one would be different.<p>

She reached the landing, and held the door handle into the flat. She could hear voices.

"Behave!"

"It's not my fault you're so small."

"Sherlock, give me it back now! Mycroft, tell him!"

Alex's breath caught in her throat as she pushed down on the handle and stepped inside. At the sound of her entrance, the inhabitants of the room turned to her.

A woman turned to her indignantly, "Alex, tell your uncle to stop being so horrible."

Alex stared at her in disbelief, whispering, "Mum?"

"You alright, Alex?" Sherlock asked from beside his sister. Alex realised he was holding her hairbrush above her head.

She nodded, "F-fine, I-I'm fine. I'm…"

"Sure?" May asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Slowly, Alex walked over to Sherlock. He looked so _real. _Even the creases in his shirt were the same. That stray curl that always fell down upon his forehead. That arrogant, straight-backed stance.

"I think I have," she whispered, and reached out to touch his arm. He was solid. He was no ghost.

A hand appeared on her cheek and Alex flinched away. She hadn't felt that touch in a long time. May cocked her head at her, confused, "You're not sick are you?"

"She's probably just sick of you two fighting," Mycroft commented from Sherlock's chair. "God knows I am."

"Ohh, I think it's nice," a new voice said, and Alex spun around to see Mrs Hudson hand Mycroft a plate with a slab of cake on. "It's playful bickering."

"She smashed my experiment with her hairbrush! Nothing about that is playful!" Sherlock argued.

"_Our _experiment," Molly's mousy voice amended from the kitchen, where she was hunched over a microscope.

"Manners, Sherlock," Greg mocked, also from the kitchen.

"Oh, shut up, Gary."

"_Greg!" _everyone in the room corrected exasperatedly.

Alex found herself giggling madly, looking around the room at her family. Everyone was there. No, wait. There was one more.

John shouldered the door open, carrying six large pizza boxes in his arms.

"Could have given me a hand, Alex," he chuntered, setting them down on the coffee table.

"Oh, yeah, um, sorry," Alex said, kneeling down beside Sherlock as he begrudgingly handed May her hairbrush back.

She then sat on Alex's other side and ruffled her hair. Alex drank in her features, every freckle and dust of powder on her cheeks. She had forgotten how beautiful her mother was. Unable to help herself, Alex launched herself at her, wrapping her arms around her neck. May laughed in surprise and cuddled her back.

"You sure you're feeling okay, darling?" she asked. "'Cause by now you would have noticed Sherlock has taken your margherita pizza."

Greg let out a low whistle as John said, "You're done for now, Sherlock."

"It's the only one that looks half-edible!" Sherlock defended.

"Frankly I wouldn't stand for that, Alex," Mycroft said, as usual, stirring things.

"No, neither would I," May said and moved Alex off her lap as Sherlock backed away. "How dare you steal from my daughter."

"May, how many times do we have to fight for you to realise that I always win?" Sherlock drawled, but was putting as much distance as he could between them.

"Confident, brother mine?" she laughed, and started towards him. Sherlock ran to keep out of her way, darting over to the window.

"You're like a rabid bulldog! Alex, call her off!"

Alex threw her head back and laughed louder than she thought she ever had before. Happy tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and she clutched her stomach, doubled over. It was perfect, everything was perfect.

After retrieving Alex's pizza slice, May sat beside her again, and Sherlock resumed his place at her other side. Alex leant her back against Mycroft's legs, him being the only one with a seat, everyone else kneeling on the floor.

May looked sideways at her with a devilish smile and flicked a piece of mushroom at Sherlock's head. He responded by picking up Molly's pepper and throwing it at his sister's face, hitting her between the eyes.

"My aim is much better than yours, May, don't forget that."

May grumbled and ate the pepper, swapping Molly another mushroom for it. Alex had always thought they would be friends.

Time passed as they ate and swapped stories, with Sherlock and Mycroft taking turns to supply sarcastic remarks. Alex couldn't stop looking at them. Sherlock and her mother, just laughing, driving each other insane. It was just how she'd imagined it.

It was beginning to get dark outside, and Greg let out a yawn.

"I'd better be getting back," he held his hand out to Molly. "Am I walking you home?"

"If that's okay," she said with a smile. "Bye, everyone."

Alex waved her goodbye. Mrs Hudson was next, going back down to her own flat. Then it was John, retiring to his room.

There were only the three of them left. Alex lent her head against Sherlock's shoulder and her hand found her mother's. There were a few silent moments of peace.

"You have to wake up now," Sherlock mumbled.

"What?"

"You have to wake up. You're going to feel pretty rough soon."

Alex swallowed, fear setting in, "I don't want to."

"You have to. You can't stay here forever," Mycroft said, and Alex twisted to look at him.

"I-I can stay, I _want _to stay," Sherlock stood up and then helped her to her feet. "Please, I c-can – I can…"

He sighed and gripped her shoulder, "Don't be like me."

May stood up too, voice choked as she cupped Alex's cheek, "Or me."

Alex began to feel the same crushing sensation in her chest. The tears were close. Her blood was becoming less viscous again, it was beginning to flow. The pain was creeping back.

"No," she said, a tear falling down her cheek. "No."

May brushed it away gently.

A sharp pain in Alex's stomach made her lurch forwards and cry out. May let go of her, and Sherlock held her up by her arms.

"It won't last, I promise," he said.

Alex gasped, the pain spreading to her joints. It felt as if her bones were scraping against each other. It was close to the worst pain of her life. She fought the impulse to scream.

"You've taken a lot, especially for your first time. Couple that with the amount you've drank over the past few days and you can expect this," Sherlock explained. "When did you last eat?"

"I don't know," she said through gritted teeth and bowed her head. "It hurts so much."

He let her slowly fall to the floor and curl into a foetal position, just like she had done on the mattress.

"Time to wake up now."

"No," Alex groaned. "Please. I don't want to go back there."

"You'll survive."

Alex thought about her dark, dirty flat with the stains and smashed glass, and the endless nights she knew she would spend alone there.

"I won't," she whispered brokenly, eyes closed.

Sherlock didn't respond. There was a different noise now. A rushing noise. What was that? Traffic?

"Sherlock," she mumbled.

Again, no reply.

Painfully, she opened her eyes and saw the distant flash of a car. She was outside. When did that happen?

"Sherlock," she called, but the strain was too much and she cringed, letting her head fall back against the building behind her.

She was somehow boiling hot and freezing cold, shivering violently. Had that been why she had come outside? After she had taken whatever it was Raz's friend had given her.

Wait, that had been early morning. It was dark. The car headlights felt like they were burning through Alex's eyes, and the sky was pitch black. People walked past her and she tucked up her legs as they sent her a wary look. Her dark jeans were ripped and there was a gash on her knee. She wondered how she did that, then realised that it didn't matter. Everywhere hurt. What was a scratch?

She didn't want to be here, alone on the street in pain, where everyone could see her. She closed her eyes, hoping she could forget about them, and forget about the agony, and maybe she could go back to that paradise she had been to before.

* * *

><p>Sherlock had been mentally preparing himself for this moment for days. The funeral. He knew which dress she would be wearing and how she would try to wrangle her hair into something resembling presentable, and how she would stay by Mycroft and John, forcing them to sit beside each other. He even knew which seat she would take and when they began to bury the coffin, she would turn away.<p>

He knew seeing her cry would make him want to abandon the entire plan and run to her to tell her that he was alright, that he was safe, and that she didn't need to cry any more. He had almost caved when she had pleaded with him to wake up after he had jumped. He had never heard her in such pain before and he knew that if John had waited another second to pull her back, he would have given in. He couldn't give in now.

So, he stood by the fence and watched as people began entering the church. John arrived soon after. Alex wasn't with him. That was hardly surprising considering Mycroft had told him Alex was staying with him now. But then Mycroft turned up, without Alex.

Sherlock frowned. Where was she? He hadn't missed her, surely? The church door closed, and Sherlock straightened up, his frown deepening. This wasn't something Alex would miss. He needed answers, but Mycroft's phone would be switched off during the service – and good job too, if anyone saw an incoming message from the person they were burying.

So he waited. He watched the usual spectacle with little interest. The empty coffin was buried, and Sherlock moved a little closer as John walked up to the headstone and Mrs Hudson walked away. He couldn't hear what he was saying, but Sherlock knew his friend was close to crying. He had expected it to be Alex whose tears made him want to come back, but John's were just as painful.

Then, the ex-soldier turned away, holding his chin up defiantly, and walked across the yard to Mrs Hudson.

Only then did Sherlock feel it safe to text Mycroft.

**Where is Alex? She wasn't at the service – SH**

The reply took a little longer than usual.

**She's not well.**

**She would have come even if she was sick. What's going on? – SH**

**Leave it, Sherlock.**

**No. I'm coming to yours – SH**

**No!**

Mycroft's name flashed up on his phone. He was ringing him. Sherlock, for once, answered.

_"Sherlock, you cannot–"_

"Where is she, Mycroft?" Sherlock interrupted.

Mycroft sighed, _"I'm handling it."_

"Handling what?"

_"She… she's not coping very well at the moment. But she will. She'll be fine."_

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he spoke dangerously low, "She's not with you, is she?"

_"Of course–"_

"Stop. You're lying. Now tell me where Alex is."

Whatever Mycroft had to say to that was cut off by an alert from one of his homeless network who had helped execute his death. The one he had asked to keep an eye on Alex. It was a text.

There was a GPS coordinate and the words – **you still in Britain?**

Sherlock didn't hesitate.

* * *

><p>What Alex was doing in this part of the city, Sherlock had no clue, especially as it was getting dusk. It was almost as bad as Stunden Street, and she had promised she would never go back there. The instructions on his phone led him to a block of rundown flats. He looked around and saw no one. Had the message really been about Alex? It had to be, that why Sherlock had given him the phone in the first place.<p>

"Where are you?" he muttered.

He was about to go around the back of the building when he spotted something further down the path. He walked over and picked it up. It was a shoe. Alex's shoe.

Several hundred scenarios suddenly ran through Sherlock's head. Had she been mugged and the shoe disregarded? Had she somehow forgotten it, preoccupied with something else? Had she left it as a clue? Had someone pulled up beside her and dragged her in their car, and she lost the shoe in the struggle?

But then, as he followed the possible trails around the footwear, he noticed a hand poking out from the inside of an alley. He immediately knew it was her.

"Alex," he murmured, unsure how to proceed. If he went to her, she would be terrified. He was supposed to be dead. It would ruin the plan. But the hand wasn't moving. It was pale, still, and limp against the cobbles. Screw the plan.

"Alex," he called louder, hurrying over to her and falling to his knees beside her.

She was unconscious, eyes red-rimmed and skin whiter than ever before. A thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead and her clothes were drenched. Yet she was shivering. A small blob of dried blood crusted the crook of her elbow. Sherlock knew what that meant, and felt a bolt of fear.

Without taking his eyes off her, he texted Mycroft to send a car. Then, he gently tapped the side of her face. She was freezing. She didn't respond as he took off his coat and laid it over her.

"Alex, can you hear me?" he asked forcefully. "You need to open your eyes and let me know you're okay."

He checked her pulse. It was raised.

"Stupid," he muttered, not sure exactly whether he was chastising himself or his niece. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

She wasn't waking up any time soon, Sherlock realised, and he lifted her up off the floor, the coat still over her, as he waited for the car to arrive. It was there in a matter of minutes, and Sherlock opened the door to see no Mycroft. Paying no attention to that, Sherlock laid Alex down across the backseats and sat opposite, watching her intently for any signs of movement.

It was just as they were reaching Mycroft's that she began to stir. Sherlock froze.

She groaned quietly and shifted, letting out a small whimper of pain as she did. She was going to open her eyes, he knew she was. She was going to open her eyes and scream. Her eyelids flickered, then stilled again, like the rest of her body, as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

The driver parked as close to the front door as possible, but before Sherlock could open the door, a furious looking Mycroft did first.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you…?" he stopped, seeing Alex.

Sherlock gave him a filthy glare, "Move out of the way."

His brother obliged and stepped back as Sherlock took Alex in his arms again, still alarmed by her limpness.

"Get the door," Sherlock said.

Mycroft did so silently and followed Sherlock to Alex's bedroom. With one hand, he grabbed the towel hanging on the back of her door and laid it over the bed, before setting Alex down on top of it with the other hand.

Once he had made sure she was as comfortable as possible, he wheeled on his brother.

"We need to talk. Now," he growled.

Mycroft hung his head in resignation, "Yes."

"I'm telling her."

Mycroft sighed, "Sherlock, you can't. We agreed."

"That was before I found Alex unconscious in an alley after taking God knows what!"

"Not telling her is for her own protection."

"Really? _Really_? Do you want to go and see the state she's in now? Are you saying _that _is you protecting her?" Sherlock shook his head in disbelief. "She's seventeen, Mycroft. What if it hadn't been me who found her?"

"I'm well aware of the severity of this, Sherlock," Mycroft said lowly. "Believe me, you don't need to inform me."

"Well, I think I do! She could be dead right now."

"I know that!" Mycroft took a breath, trying to calm himself down. "But at least in London, there is a degree of protection I can give to her. You tell her, she'll want to come with you. She feels responsible. She won't be able to stay here while she knows you're off putting yourself in danger. And if _you're _in danger, Alex certainly will be. Like you say, she's seventeen and untrained. She would get you both killed."

Sherlock grumbled, turning away angrily and running a hand through his curls, "This wasn't meant to happen. This most definitely wasn't supposed to happen."

"I can handle it."

Sherlock turned back to face his brother, "Mycroft, you cannot possibly understand what she's feeling right now. This is her first time. From now on, all she will be able to think about is her second, unless you deal with this properly. I don't really see a great chance of that. What are you proposing to do? Send her away somewhere?"

Mycroft paused, "If that's what's necessary."

Sherlock scoffed, "Like that will work."

"It worked for you."

"Because of Alex! Who has she got to come back to now? She's obviously bursting with reasons to live if she's slumped half-dead alone in an alley! I… I can't believe this is Alex I'm talking about," Sherlock put his hands over his face. "Have we just ruined her life?"

"Alex is strong. This is a blip. She got through her mother's death by shutting us out. Now she's older, she's found a different way of coping – no I'm not saying this is coping!" Mycroft rushed to add when Sherlock bridled indignantly. "I said the same thing to her today."

"You talked to her? What did she say?"

Mycroft averted his eyes down to his desk, straightening his pen.

"Mycroft," Sherlock prompted.

"She… was upset, as you can imagine."

"You can't be the one to help her," Sherlock said instantly.

"Of course I can!"

"She resents you, that's what you won't tell me. What did she say? Did she tell you to forget about her? Never see her again? That she hated you? Does that sound familiar, Mycroft? Does it? Because God knows every one of your siblings has said it to you right before they've done something stupid. You should have known. And you should know from past experience that you can't help her once she's reached that point. Someone else has to, someone she trusts."

"And who do you have in mind?" Mycroft asked, both irritated and terrified at Sherlock's words.

"John."

"No. She won't have anything to do with him."

"Why?"

"He's _your _friend, Sherlock. You instigated the relationship. Alex's relationship with John Watson is more familial–"

"And she can't be around family right now, okay, okay, let me think! Um, uh, err, not Molly, can't be Molly, she'd end up giving it away. Do not let Alex near Molly. Okay, think, think, think… Lestrade!"

"Greg Lestrade?" Mycroft repeated, curling his nose. "No."

"Why not? He's her friend, he's less parental, he has experience dealing with drug and alcohol abuse, he can stop it before it gets going. And his ex has just moved out, it's perfect!"

"I'm not having my niece be taken care of by a Scotland Yard detective."

"You snob. This is what is best for her."

"She won't go for it."

"Give it a try!" Sherlock yelled in frustration, then forced his voice to quieten. Then, it was low and furious. "After however long it's going to take to dismantle Moriarty's network, I won't come home to the death of my niece."

Mycroft matched his younger brother's ferocious gaze with one equally angry. But, as the seconds dragged on, it slowly dampened to weariness as he began to concede to Sherlock's point.

"We can try."

"You call him, I'll get Alex."

"That might not be the best idea."

"She's sleeping. Just, let me," Sherlock said, and left the office before he ended up punching his brother in the face.

Alex was still sleeping. And sweating. The towel he had laid down was sodden, as if someone had dumped it in cold bathwater. That in mind, Sherlock quickly found a bag and put some of her clothes inside it.

He sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb her. She looked like she had somehow lost weight that she definitely couldn't afford to lose. He wondered whether Lestrade knew her favourite food was pancakes. He'd have to get Mycroft to tell him.

She always looked so young when she was asleep. If he tried hard enough, Sherlock could easily see a ten year-old Alex when she came down with bronchitis, fitfully sleeping and coughing relentlessly. Except he knew this time, this was at her own hand. Well, her arm. Sherlock glared at the pinprick there and hoped no more would be joining it.

Then suddenly he stood up off the bed.

It hit him.

This would be _really _the last time he would see her until he came back, and who knew how long that would be. She could be in her twenties! Alex, twenty! He wouldn't see her eighteenth birthday, when she officially stopped being a child. An adult. When he came back, Alex would be a grown-up. Not the meek fourteen year-old who had welcomed John Watson into their flat for the first time, not even the mature sixteen year old she had once been. She would change and he wouldn't be there. He might not even recognise her when he came back. May had changed so much and so fast through those years.

A soft cry dragged Sherlock from his thoughts and he looked warily at Alex. She was waking up. And looking at him.

"Sherlock…"

She sounded too calm. She should be more hysterical than this.

"I'm…" Sherlock had to strain to hear what she was saying. "Back… told… you… Where's… Mum?"

Sherlock swallowed, realising what she was talking about. The dreams. He remembered them well.

He knelt down beside the bed and put a cold hand on her cheek, "She's just in the next room. She's being told off by Mycroft."

Alex, still more asleep than awake, giggled, "What's she… done now?"

Sherlock brushed her hair back off her forehead, where it stuck to her perspiration.

"She didn't come home when she was supposed to."

Something inside him ached as he said those words. The truth of them were blinding.

"I need you to go back to sleep, Al'."

"Why? Am I… gonna wake up… on the f-floor… again?"

"No. You're not."

"Good… I don't like… the people looking… at me… They don't… get it."

"There's no more people."

"But–" she looked on the verge of crying. "It hurt."

"Shh, go to sleep."

"It hurt."

"Just go back to sleep."

"Mmm."

She stilled and her barely-open eyes closed again. Sherlock hung his head, still stroking her hair.

"Sherlock, did she…?" Mycroft asked slowly from the doorway.

"She thinks she's dreaming. It's okay," he lowered his voice, looking down at her. "It's okay."

"Lestrade is waiting. He's concerned. I suppose that's a good sign."

Sherlock nodded as he scooped Alex up, her bag over his shoulder, and carried her back out to the car.

* * *

><p>He waited around the corner. He wanted to carry her in, damn Lestrade knowing, but Mycroft had forbidden it.<p>

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Mycroft emerged, holding Sherlock's coat. He handed it to him.

"She'd be very confused if she woke up with this still around her," he explained.

Sherlock took it, folding it over his arm instead of wearing it. He wasn't sure he wanted to wear it any more.

"She'll be okay," Mycroft said.

"You had better keep me informed. Any word of her not getting better and I'll be back here before you can stop me."

Mycroft raised his hands, "Understood. Are you coming?"

Sherlock looked up at the building. Lestrade's flat once on the second floor. The light was on. Alex was there now, laid on his sofa. That was where she'd wake up. And carry on thinking he was dead.

"I explained to him that she wouldn't be staying put," Mycroft said. "I estimate she'll last two days, maximum. But as you said, at least she knows he's an option should she need anything… should she not be able to come to me."

He said the last part rather sadly and Sherlock, regrettably, felt an inkling of empathy for his brother.

"We'll be going straight to the airport. You have a private plane waiting on the runway. If you're ready."

Sherlock hesitated.

Mycroft pursed his lips and reached into his coat, retrieving a folded up piece of paper. As he unfolded it, Sherlock realised it wasn't paper at all, but a photograph. Mycroft gave it to him, and Sherlock smoothed it out.

"She had it in her pocket."

It was the picture he had given her for Christmas a few years ago. The one with the nine-month-old Alex on a much younger, grumpy-looking Sherlock's shoulders, the two of them dripping with cake batter. Alex had taken it out of the album.

A strange tightness in his throat, Sherlock folded the photograph again and stored it in his trouser pocket.

"Are you ready now?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock looked back up at the light on in the flat, then back down at his brother, and nodded.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: dorina16able, i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, Guest, emilybrock101, DerekHaleSiriusBlack1103, RainbowSilenced, Xenon Scorpia, Guest, FlewandFlied, GraceMarie15, armstrongjessi, shnuffeluv, Crossing the Galaxy 22, Kelliston, persephonie025, artemishuntress88, and Guest for reviewing!<strong>

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**Let me know what you think of me doing a May/Moriarty fic, even if it's just a yes or no :)**

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**Abby**

**X**


	114. Passing the Time

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. This chapter isn't when Alex finds out about Sherlock (there's just so much to fit in) but I promise the next chapter is. And I PROMISE it will be published on Sunday. PROMISE. A Little Innocent chapter will be published on Wednesday (I have written three now so they should be up in the next three weeks). I'm going to have to be a little cleverer when it comes to updates because I will soon be inundated with exams and I don't want you guys to suffer. I have written the next chapter and I'll let you know how far ahead I've gotten in that chapter. Fingers crossed I can get as far ahead as possible!**

**Also, I'm still undecided about the May/Moriarty fic. **

**TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUBSTANCE ABUSE.**

_Previously:_

_It was the picture he had given her for Christmas a few years ago. The one with the nine-month-old Alex on a much younger, grumpy-looking Sherlock's shoulders, the two of them dripping with cake batter. Alex had taken it out of the album. _

_A strange tightness in his throat, Sherlock folded the photograph again and stored it in his trouser pocket. _

_"Are you ready now?" Mycroft asked._

_Sherlock looked back up at the light on in the flat, then back down at his brother, and nodded._

Alex groaned loudly, turning over on her side as she felt a wave of nausea. Someone's hand immediately went to her back, another holding back her hair. It was familiar. Had someone been doing this all night?

"Going again?" a voice asked.

After a few seconds of lying still, Alex felt her stomach settle and rolled onto her back, allowing herself to slowly wake up.

"Why do I feel like I'm about to die?" she asked.

"You… uh… well…" the voice, who she now recognised as male, trailed off.

"Who are you?" she tried to squint but the light was too bright. "S'too light."

"Sorry, one sec," there was a shuffle and the ruffle of curtains before the light dimmed and Alex could make out who it was. "It's Greg. You feeling okay?"

Alex stretched, not strong enough to stand up yet. She looked around the room in bemusement.

"When did I get here?"

"Last night. Mycroft dropped you off."

Alex scowled and began to pull herself up, "Great."

Her legs gave out. She fell back.

"I was meant to do that," she muttered.

He offered to help her up but she shook her head, opting for trying a few more times before she managed to stand, supporting herself on the arm of the sofa. A wave of dizziness hit her

"I'm sorry Mycroft forced you into this. I'll be out of your way now."

"No, no, wait!" Greg said, running to stand between her and the door. "I can't let you go back to wherever you're staying."

"Why not?"

"You… Alex, you were…" he pressed his lips together, conflicted.

"High?" she supplied. "Yeah, I know. Wasn't my fault."

"Someone drugged you?"

Alex thought back to the boy on the mattress. How lucky she had been that that boy was home.

"Something like that," she moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Urgh, I feel like death. Need a drink."

"Whoa, no you don't. That is the last thing you need right now, Alex Holmes."

"Piss off, you aren't my uncle."

"No, I'm your mate. So take it from me. Stop."

Alex rolled her eyes. She was regretting swearing at him. He didn't deserve that. But if she apologised, it meant she showed weakness. Vulnerability. Trust. She wasn't going to hand that out willingly anymore.

"I'll think about it, yeah?" she managed. She noticed a bag near the door. "When did my stuff get here?"

"Mycroft brought it with him."

Alex stepped over it, opening the door.

"Don't you want it?" Lestrade asked.

She barely cast it a glance.

"Burn it for all I care."

He groaned, "Alex, come on, please. I know you've pushed everyone else away, just let me look out for you."

Alex paused in the open doorway. When she walked out of here, she was on her own again. There would be Raz and his friends, but they weren't really friends to her. They were suppliers. Dimmers. Not friends.

She cleared her throat, "Friday."

"Sorry?"

"I'll come by on Friday, i-if that's okay."

"Of course," he said quickly.

"Keep Mycroft off my back," she shrugged. "And you can go back and report to him that I haven't drank myself to death yet."

Greg winced.

"Okay…" she bit the side of her mouth. "See you then."

As she walked back down the path she couldn't remember taking up, Alex began to wonder if she was making a huge mistake by allowing herself this one ally.

* * *

><p>"You should try to eat a little more," Greg said.<p>

Alex shook her head, almost glaring at the toast, "I don't have much of an appetite."

"Don't take too many of Sherlock's bad habits," when Alex barely smiled, he quickly changed the subject. "What have you been doing all week?"

"I don't really remember."

She remembered exactly. The moment she left Greg's, she headed straight for Raz's flat, straight to the boy known as Eric. This time it wasn't free, but she didn't mind. She paid for it in more ways than one. The dream was just as good as the first one, and the pain lessened. Win-win. She ignored her bruised and swollen lips.

"You need anything? Clothes?" he made a pointed attempt not to look at the shabby and stained clothes Alex was wearing. That she had been wearing since they last saw each other.

She looked down, "I'll find something."

"I can–"

"No, it's fine," she brushed off with a half-smile. "So, uh… have you talked to Mycroft?"

She'd only talked to him in her head.

Greg glanced away.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Yes, we've talked."

"What's he trying to get you to do? Convince me to go to live with him? I have a little more baggage now than I used to," Alex muttered. "I suppose he's been there all before, though."

She thought of Sherlock and his addiction, the rift it created in their family. It was different with her. She had no family to create a rift in. Before she had time to fully process this, a wet object brushed against her hand and Alex jumped, seeing Chuck sat staring up at her. She patted the dog's head.

"You scared me, buddy."

He wagged his tail and Greg smiled, "He remembers you."

Alex remembered when she had first met the dog, tied up at the farmhouse where the Pronged Puppeteer case had started. Sherlock had been adamant they wouldn't bring it back but Alex had insisted. She knew he secretly liked the dog. He had always liked dogs. He used to tell her stories about Redbeard when she was younger.

"I'm gonna go," she said, the thought bringing with it a painful ache which could only be remedied in the darkness of her flat.

He stood up and walked to the door with her. He twisted his hands and licked his lips as he said, "Listen, next Friday, instead of coming here… would you…?"

Alex frowned at his nervousness, "What?"

He struggled to form the words he wanted to, and reached into his pocket, retrieving a small card. He handed it to Alex with an air of caution.

_Addie Sharp – Therapist._

Underneath was a phone number and address. Alex scoffed and looked away.

"Don't look like that," Greg said. "It might help you."

"I don't need–"

"Yes you do. You most definitely do."

Alex glowered, "I don't need to see some shrink who'll tell me everything I already know."

"You can't know–"

"I know I'm not mentally well, I know I'm on the slippery slope to addiction, and I know that unless I change, I'm going to end up sad and alone or suicidal. I'm eighty-three percent sure I have clinical depression stemming from a mixture of environmental stimuli and hereditary factors. If my nightmares are anything to go by, I have PTSD. These affect my appetite and sleeping pattern, which I'm confident will lead to anorexia and insomnia. My self-treatment of these conditions are soon going to take over my life and destroy everything I once was, until all I can think about is my next fix," she said emotionlessly.

Greg stared at her incredulously_, _"Then you need to get help _before_ it is all you can think about."

"But that's kinda the point."

"What?"

"The whole not-thinking part. There are much darker things I can be thinking about than drugs," Alex said evenly.

Greg put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a slight shake, "Don't do this to yourself. It might seem hopeless now but it isn't. Please."

Alex looked back down at the card, "Mycroft gave you this didn't he?"

"Yes."

"He wants me to go."

"He thought about a centre for you to stay at," Alex looked up in alarm. "But decided against it. He wants you here."

"He knows I'd never stay, that's why. He has people following me, you know. I got one of Raz's friends to beat one of them up. They keep stealing from my flat while I'm out. Usually cider I've just bought. I'll go back now and I'll only be left with empty bottles…" she sighed, flexing the paper card.

She stared down at it, staying silent for a long few seconds.

"If I go to this," she began quietly. "I won't come back here."

"What? Why?"

Alex ground her teeth, reigning in her emotions, "I don't want to see your disappointment when it doesn't work."

"Why would you say that?"

She gave him a sad smile, "Because I don't want to feel like Sherlock did every time I was disappointed in him."

She had said his name. Sherlock. She hadn't said it out loud for a few days. She blinked.

"I still want you to go," Greg said.

Alex gave an imperceptible nod, "Fine. I'll be there next week."

"Please give this a good go, Alex, and never feel like you can't come back here. Promise me."

She wasn't sure she could stick to that, so said nothing and left.

* * *

><p>Appointment 1.<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Patient is reluctant to answer questions and body language is very closed and private. Probable alcohol and substance abuse, confirmed nonchalantly by patient. Patient is unwilling to come with a family member or friend and claims – socially isolated. This is of her own volition. Indicators of disrupted sleep and admission of nightmares. Eating is an issue. Possible eating disorder.

Find attached questionnaire.

1. In the past two weeks, how often have you felt down, depressed, or hopeless?

_More often than your husband is sleeping with your sister._

2. How is your sleep?

_Look at my face. What do you think, Poirot?_

3. How is your energy?

_Before or after a drink?_

4. Describe your relationship with alcohol.

_Refer to previous question._

5. Have you ever taken non-prescribed drugs?

_Obviously. Aren't you supposed to be a professional?_

6. What is your relationship with your family like?

_Drug-induced._

7. What is your relationship with your friends like?

_Dealer-customer. _

8. Have you ever self-harmed?

_Emotionally, yes. Physically, not yet._

9. Have you had any thoughts of suicide?

_Does other people's count?_

10. If you could sum up your life in one word, what would it be?

After several scribbles, the patient neglected to answer.

* * *

><p>Appointment 2<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Patient is alone again. The patient says a friend – whose name the patient refused to give – and her are no longer in contact. Her only peers are those with addictions. The patient has refused offer for residential rehabilitation for confirmed alcohol and drug addiction. There is a significant increase in symptoms from last visit. Nightmares are even more common. Suspected PTSD. Recommended to reconcile with family, which was responded to with laughter. Simple personal hygiene, e.g. hair washing, teeth cleaning, bathing, neglected.

Still reluctance to talk openly.

* * *

><p>Appointment 3<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Significant increase in symptoms. Intoxicated upon arrival, subsequent sickness. Sent home.

* * *

><p>Appointment 4<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Further decline in patient's mental wellbeing. Scheduled consultation with other mental health expert next week. Patient is less confrontational. Quiet. Refusal to answer questions again, not deflected with an off-topic remark, but met with silence.

Three words were uttered by the patient during the visit: 'I miss him'.

* * *

><p>Appointment 5<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Patient has facial bruising and a broken wrist, reportedly after defending 'fucking bullshit' claims about deceased uncle. When pressed on the topic, patient walked out.

* * *

><p>Appointment 6<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

After consultation, patient is diagnosed with clinical depression. Patient is very knowledgeable of treatment due to experience within the family. Serotonin-noradrenaline reuptake inhibitor duloxetine recommended. Cymbalta given. Patient knows that they must stop her alcohol consumption and further drug use if medication is to take effect. I am confident she will do this, after assuring me that she wants to get better. Progress expected at next appointment.

* * *

><p>Appointment 7<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Patient neglected to show.

* * *

><p>Appointment 8<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Patient neglected to show.

* * *

><p>Appointment 9<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Patient neglected to show.

* * *

><p>Appointment 10<p>

Patient Name: Alessandra Maybelline Holmes.

Preferred Name: Alex.

Date of Birth: November 1st 1996.

Notes:

Treatment of patient terminated.

* * *

><p>There is a broken window, blocked up with duct tape and cardboard. The walls are bare and streaked mould and damp. There is broken glass on the window sill.<p>

A scuffle.

"Is this… is it on? It is? Okay… you can go then… No, I'm not doing this while you're here. Get out."

A man's voice huffs in agitation, and the sound of footsteps echoes across the room until there is a slam of a door. The image rocks slightly and someone dashes to hold the camera up.

A sigh.

After a moment and a swish of liquid, a skinny girl walks out from behind the camera and sits down in front of the window. She faces the barrel. Her eyes are inflamed and her skin is marked with blemishes. She chews nervously on her lip, takes a deep breath, and starts. Her voice is shaky and uncertain.

"Hi, John," she clears her throat. "Um, this is quite strange. I had planned to write a letter but," she holds out a trembling hand, then lets it fall. "I haven't stopped shaking for days. Don't think I will now. You wouldn't be able to read what I'd written so I suppose this is the only way we can – you know – speak, even if it is just me speaking to you.

"I went to my first therapy session today. The woman isn't too keen on me. She tries to keep professional but I'm not making it easy. It's the same woman who tried to talk to me when Molly nearly died at the hospital. Seeing her makes me realise just how long ago that was. I bet she doesn't even see me as the same person now.

"What else has happened? I stayed with Greg for a night. Can't remember how I got there. One morning I just woke up there. He made me go to the therapist. I said I don't want to see him again," the girl sighs, crossing her legs and leaning back against the wall. "I'm good at doing that, aren't I?

Anyway, I'm talking about me too much. I'm selfish like that, more so than ever these days. How are you?" she looks into the camera expectantly, eyes pleading. Seconds pass. "I'm gonna assume you're not doing too well," she finally says, adding in a whisper. "Hopefully better than me."

Her hands twist at the fabric of her sleeve, more specifically, her elbow. She now avoids direct contact with the camera. She averts her gaze to the floor. She goes to speak a few more times, unsuccessfully. With a disgusted scowl, she struggles to her feet and her face appears close up before a bleep, and darkness.

* * *

><p>There is less hesitation this time. She is already sat down as she presses the button. There is more glass around her than last time. The bags beneath her eyes are darker. Her sentences are simple and disjointed, as if she is struggling to think.<p>

"Hi, John. I went to the therapist again," she smiles tiredly. It barely touches her cheeks. "I saw Anderson, too. He's going mad. He's made a fan club for Sherlock. They're obsessed with him being alive. I went to a couple. Lestrade wasn't happy with him. He said he was giving me false hope. I don't go back now.

"How are your nightmares? Mine are bad. It's everything, really. Last night I dreamt I was stood on a diving board at the pool where Moriarty killed that kid. You were all telling me to jump. It was all… I don't know… weird. Happy. So I jumped. Fell. But I didn't hit the water," her eyes turn glassy. "I hit the floor. There was blood. Someone touched my wrist. I opened my eyes and…. y-you were looking at me," she purses her lips, covertly brushing at her eyes. A dirty smudge appears. "It's not the first time I dream I'm him. Not the first time I've dreamt I'm _her _too… I… I wish…" she sniffs, her eyes falling to the rest of the room. "I wish I could wake up and I'm dreaming this too. I wish… I wish I could just wake up and be you, dreaming you're me."

She smiles bitterly, "See? Selfish."

* * *

><p>"No three," her words are slurred. Instead of sitting up in front of the wall, she is slumped back against it. A bottle is clutched in her hand. It's a litre bottle of something brown. "Been three sessions o' therapy now. Fat lot a good it's doin'," she snorts. "All they say is just what everyone else says. It'll all get better with time!" she raises her bottle, spilling some of the contents down her shirt. She glances at it, then at the camera. "S'alright. Ruined anyway," she suddenly giggles, hiccupping. She shuffles closer. "John, John, you-you wanna hear a secret? Huh? Can you – can you keep it? Coz I can't I got sent home today! Shrink said I was too drunk! Don't tell Mycroft!" her mouth widens as she laughs. Slowly, it morphs from laughter into a distorted kind of breathing. Her lips fall and her breaths shudder. Before she begins to cry, she reaches forwards and presses a button.<p>

Darkness.

* * *

><p>This time, there is no hiding her tears. As soon as the video plays, she is hunched over, shoulders juttering. Her cries are soft and persistent, like raindrops pattering on a window. She takes deep breaths, trying to control herself, but as soon as she lets them go, she falls apart again.<p>

"I've ruined everything, John," she mumbles. Her voice is heavy. She is trying to speak but backs out, shakes her head and goes for the 'off' button. "I'm sorry."

* * *

><p>"WHY?!" the word is punctuated with a hurled bottle, which smashes against the wall.<p>

The hurler walks into shot, seething. One side of her face is smothered in a large purple bruise, swelling up into a disgusting blister. The white of her left eye is dyed red and half-closed. Her lip is split. Her right wrist is wrapped with toilet roll.

"They're all _idiots!" _she kicks at the shards of glass. "_Idiots! _Don't worry, John, I put 'em right. You've heard them, I know you have. Still saying Sherlock was a fraud. I'd love for them to say that to his face now, can you imagine?" her face twists. "Seen as he can't anymore, s'up to me," she growls. "And it fucking hurt! I've had to take double just so I can stop yelling!"

She throws herself on the floor, not noticing the glass. More blood begins to stain her filthy jeans. She doesn't even blink.

Her tone is now more subdued, "… Mycroft came 'round again… I," she pauses. "When he knocked, I thought it was them again…" she licks her lips. "I opened the door and just hit out. I hit him. I h-hit him. Actually hit him," she curls up her nose, distant. "He looked so shocked. Might have been the fact that I was bleeding everywhere but y'know. I think I b-broke his nose… he deserved it," she said, no more than a whisper. "He… h-he… he deserved…_deserved _it," her face falls and she turns off the camera.

* * *

><p>She is turning a box over and over in her hands. She inhales deeply and holds it up to the camera. They are pills.<p>

"My mum had these. Different brand though," she gives a rueful smile. "Clinical depression. Told everyone so," she sighs. "Don't really know what I'm supposed to do about it though. I told the therapist I'd take them but… I have to stop drinking," she shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "John, I have lost count of the amount of drink I have in a day. It's in the twenties at least. I shoot up every time I feel like I want to rip my own heart out, just so I can do it in my head. How can I stop?" she blinks several times. "How do I stop? I can try, but… but I…" she clenches her jaw. "I can try."

* * *

><p>She looks terrible. So much worse than before. She is almost unrecognisable. It's been four weeks since the last video. It looks like twenty years. Her skin barely looks like skin anymore, and it is pulled tight across her bones. Her eyes look like they have long forgotten sleep, and her exposed arms are mottled with rivers of black, blue, and purple bruises.<p>

She is laid on her side.

"I couldn't do it."

* * *

><p><strong>1 Year and Six Months Later.<strong>

It was cold but Alex didn't really mind. She shivered no matter the temperature. She was just glad the summer was finally over – it made the fever easier to deal with. That and the fact that the dark nights brought in by the beginning of November complemented her mental state well, compared to the blinding sunlight that had been burning its way through Alex's broken window.

Carrier bag in hand, Alex ascended the stairs up to her flat. She didn't even pause at Raz's old place. The two had fallen out. Not long after waking up on Lestrade' couch, Eric had gone missing. Alex had no doubt that it was Mycroft, and apparently, neither did Raz. He had said some hurtful things – she had given as much as she got – and then moved elsewhere.

She didn't miss his friendship. The longer time went on, the more toxic it had become. Now, the only thing she missed about him was his supply and discounted rates. She had to pay full price now. As if she didn't already.

Alex was knackered by the time she reached her flat, but not tired enough not to notice the fact that the door was shut. She never shut her front door – what was there to steal? That could only mean one thing: Mycroft was back again.

With a grunt, Alex shouldered open the door and walked inside, slamming it again with her foot.

Sure enough, her uncle turned at her entrance.

"Hello."

She ignored him. It was easier to do these days. She didn't even know why she did it anymore. Instead, she placed her bag of shopping on the floor and folded her arms, looking at him expectantly.

"You usually just call. Or send one of your goons around here."

"Yes well, you don't answer my calls, and the last 'goon' I sent around here ended up with twenty-three stitches. From a boy, no less."

"I think he was a bit less," Alex muttered.

"Who was he?"

"No idea," at his raised eyebrow, Alex snorted, "No, I really have no idea. Could be anyone."

Mycroft's jaw clenched at that piece of news.

"So why are you still here?" Alex asked. "You can see I'm not dead, dying, pregnant, or crying so…"

He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small object. Alex frowned and looked closer. It was a card. She rolled her eyes.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"Hmm, an inspiration to nineteen year-olds everywhere. Go away, Mycroft."

"You were missing for your last birthday or I would have done the same."

"I'd have rather been in that crack den to be honest. That was until someone tipped off the police," she gave him a pointed look.

"Public spirit," he shrugged.

"That's never your motivation."

The words seemed vaguely familiar. Then again, everything in her head was rather vague nowadays.

Before Mycroft had a chance to respond, his phone pinged. He angled the screen away from her and typed a reply.

"Y'know, I'm not completely inebriated. Every time you're here, you get a text."

"I'm a busy man."

"And you always type the same words back. 'She's fine'. Who are you talking to?"

His fingers stilled and he ran his thumb over the screen. He looked up at her again, "Detective Inspector Lestrade. He's worried about you."

"Surely he knows you're lying. He's seen me a couple of times over the past few months. I've only just managed to get away."

Mycroft sighed and put his phone away, "Maybe you need to stop trying to get away."

"That'll be the day."

Truth be told, it was habit more than anything else now.

She put her hand on her hip, "You have it?"

Mycroft nodded, opening his briefcase and retrieving a folder. He handed it to Alex, who snatched it and walked over to the kitchenette. She flipped it open and saw the most recent picture of John. She blinked in surprise at the moustache. That had changed in the last fortnight.

"Looks hideous, doesn't it?" Mycroft said.

"Not that bad," Alex muttered, turning the page. There was a woman. "Who's this?"

"His new companion."

Alex raised her head, "Companion?"

"Girlfriend."

Alex inhaled sharply and inspected the photograph of the woman. She was undoubtedly beautiful, with soft, light blonde hair and a kind smile. In the picture, John had his arm around her, looking genuinely happy. Alex couldn't help but smile just the tiniest bit. Even then it was tinged with poignancy.

"Has he been back to his therapist?"

"Have you?"

Alex glared at him, "Answer the damn question, Mycroft. You know what I'm asking."

"He's moving on."

Moving on from Sherlock. Moving on from her. Moving on from everything the three of them were together.

"Good."

"Is it?"

"Yes," Alex snapped, closing the file. "He deserves to be happy."

"So do you."

Alex laughed, handing the file back to him, "Yeah, right. Maybe a few years ago that would have been true. Now, definitely not," when Mycroft went to correct her, she groaned. "Don't even go there. If you haven't managed to convince me yet, you won't. Trust me."

"I used to."

Rolling her eyes, Alex took a dirty glass from the counter top and placed it under the tap, turning it on. The water was cloudy and off-white. Before she could bring it to her lips, Mycroft slapped it out of her hands and it smashed on the floor.

"That was my last glass!" Alex said indignantly.

"You can't drink that. You'll get ill."

"You know that's not even close to some of the things I've drank," Alex deadpanned. "You're leaving now, right?"

Mycroft sighed again, "Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to celebrate your birthday."

"Ohh, a cake?" Alex asked mockingly. She bent down to one of her bags and put a litre bottle of bottom-of-the-shelf cider and a KitKat on the counter. "Birthday meal's sorted, thanks."

"For the love of–" Mycroft cut himself off, closing his eyes briefly. "You're not going to listen."

"Took you long enough to work that one out."

"Fine," he said, admitting defeat. "I'll see you next week."

Alex scowled, "If you must."

He gave her a half-hearted _look. _With a hesitant clench of his fist, he reached out and touched her shoulder. Alex froze, tensing up completely. She could barely feel it through the fabric of her shirt but it was contact. _Contact. _

"Happy birthday, Alex," he said quietly.

She stared back at him and a rush of something coursed through her. She wanted more. She wanted him to pull her to him and say 'let's go home'. She wanted to hug him, go back with him. She wanted to tell him she loved him.

That was dangerous. She hurriedly stepped away.

His hand fell away to his side and he gave her a grimace, "Take care of yourself. Please. Remember," he nodded to the piece of paper he had left on her counter. It had a list of phone numbers on.

Alex nodded distractedly and walked away to the window, desperate to put some more distance between them before she did something stupid.

As she heard him close the door, she softly touched her shoulder, where his hand had been. She could feel bone and a scar she didn't know she had. She let it fall. She hoped he wasn't as disappointed in her as she was in herself when she felt that. Then that voice spoke up and forced her to tear her thoughts away from him.

Regardless of the voice, Alex watched him get in his car and tell the driver where to go. He would no doubt be heading straight for a strong glass of something, as he always did after visiting her. She seemed to have that effect on people. She was one of the only people to have an effect on Mycroft Holmes at all, and she knew without a doubt, that she was the only one who could defeat him without wanting to.

* * *

><p>It was a tradition of Alex's to take April out on her birthday. She hadn't done it last year – she had been so high she didn't know her own name, never mind her birthday – but this year she decided she would. It would be the first time April had seen her since…<p>

Alex pressed her lips together, leaning over the sink in the pub toilets to peer closer at her eyes in the mirror. No matter what she did, they didn't seem to lose that black shadow, that sunken look that they hadn't had before. She tried to cover it with more foundation. Her dry skin made that difficult, making it look even worse. Too late now.

She stepped back and pulled her shirt down. She had bought it specially. There was a crease down the front that she had hoped would iron out when she put it on. She tried to smooth it but it was useless. She turned back to her makeup.

The sound of the bathroom door opening made Alex jump and slip, sending a red line across her cheek instead of her lips. With a small mumble of annoyance, she washed the line off and eyed the middle-aged woman who had entered as she went into one of the cubicles.

Hair. Hair was important. Alex had tried to brush it through and had washed it last night for the first time in weeks. She couldn't decide if it looked nice or not. Running her hand under the tap, she tried to flatten her curls with water, pressing it down onto her head. That looked marginally better.

Alex moved over as the woman returned from the toilet and went to wash her hands. She watched enviously as the woman took out a makeup bag from her handbag. She wished she could look like that. The smooth skin, white teeth unstained by cigarettes, straight hair neatly styled around her full face.

When the woman took out a little bottle of perfume and skirted it over her body, Alex tilted her head and smelt her clothes. She didn't notice the smell anymore. Was it there? Would April be able to smell it?

Alex cleared her throat, "Do you mind if I, um, could I…?" she motioned to the perfume.

The woman hesitated, frowning at her for a moment.

"Doesn't matter," Alex muttered.

"No," she said, handing it over. "Sorry."

Alex took it slowly, looking at the woman in surprise. She held it to her neck and squirted once. It smelt nice. She sprayed some more and handed it back.

"Thank you."

The woman smiled, "No problem. Enjoy your day."

"Yeah… y-you too."

She stored her makeup and perfume back in her bag and left, leaving Alex alone in the bathroom. The tap dripped. Alex took another long look in the mirror, then at her watch. Time to go.

* * *

><p>April was at the same carehome as before. She was settled, according to Mycroft. That was good. That helped. It also meant that Alex had gotten to know her social worker quite well. Karen Knight was waiting by the window when Alex walked up the drive. The woman's eyes widened as she saw her. She probably hadn't expected Alex to show up.<p>

Practicing a smile, Alex took out her fifth piece of minty chewing gum and placed it in the bin. Hopefully that would have gotten rid of the smell of smoke and drink on her breath.

The door opened before she touched it and Karen smiled at her. There was something in that smile. Not that Alex had expected anything different.

"Hi," Alex said. Her voice sounded different. She wasn't used to speaking to people like Karen anymore.

Karen glanced behind her into the house and then opened the door wider, "Come on in. Just head to the office."

Alex wondered if she should have taken off her shoes but Karen made no comment as she led her through the corridor to the small office that Alex had only been in once. Karen closed the door behind them and pulled out a chair for Alex, perching on the opposite chair. She shuffled.

"I was thinking I could take her to the park or something. Maybe get some ice cream or something," Alex said after a rather awkward pause.

"Actually," Karen said with obvious difficulty. "That might not being a good idea."

Alex blinked, "Oh, okay… Well, we could just hang out here? She was always saying how nice the garden is."

Karen licked her lips and Alex narrowed her eyes, trying to read what the woman was hiding.

"What?" she asked, a little more abruptly than she wanted to. "Sorry."

Karen sighed, "Alex, you're a nice girl and I know you've had such a hard time recently."

Alex looked away.

"I think it's best that you don't come to see April anymore."

Alex looked back. Her mouth hung open a little, searching the woman's eyes.

"Y-you mean… I can't…"

"I'm sorry, Alex."

"But I'm wearing makeup," Alex said, standing up and completely forgetting about the strong façade she had been trying to keep up for months. Her argument was feeble and child-like. "I-I have perfume on. These clothes are new. I washed my hair."

Karen just repeated her apology.

"N-no, what can I do? Tell me what I'm doing wrong. I can wear something different, I can be normal, I swear," when Karen remained unswayed, Alex said pleadingly. "But it's my birthday. We always do something on our birthdays."

"Then where were you on her last birthday?" Karen challenged lightly.

Alex's protestations stopped sharply.

"She waited for you all day, refused to blow out the candles on her cake, wouldn't open any presents. She was adamant you were coming. She just sat by the door until it got dark. By then the wax had melted all over the cake and she opened her presents in the middle of the night on her own. I told her you were busy, saving the world or whatever it is she thinks you do but then the paper comes and I see a picture of you stumbling out of a drug den. I lied to her, Alex, because I care about her. And because I care about her, I think it would be unhealthy for you to have contact with her," she stood up and held open the door. "I'll see you out."

Alex stood in the middle of the room, trying not to let the lump in her throat take over. Had she really done that to April? Had she really forgotten? It had been a year and a half and this was the first time she was seeing her, she had to have. The familiar stench of guilt and shame writhed in her stomach and she blindly followed Karen out to the door.

"I really am sorry, Alex. I'm just trying to protect her."

Alex didn't give an indication that she had heard, she just kept walking down the driveway, around the corner, and back to her flat, where she once again broke down.

* * *

><p>Hate. She hated herself. She was a selfish, spiteful, uncaring bitch. Raz was right with everything he said about her.<p>

She needed a fix.

* * *

><p><strong>God these chapters are hard to write.<strong>

**This is the last chapter of Alex being in the dark! That's good, right? I recommend reading some happy chapters. It's upwards from here!**

**HUGE thank you to: RainbowSilenced, i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, Guest, Noriah, persephonie025, emilybrock101, Crossing the Galaxy 22, POTC misty potter temple, shnuffeluv, Dark Goddess2000, Slyork1991, artemishuntress88, FlewandFlied, kuppcake, and Guest, for reviewing!**

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**Thanks for reading,**

**Please review,**

**Abby**

**X**


	115. Turning of the Page

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Helloo! I hope you're all having a great week :). Okay, this chapter is very, very, very dark but is something that is necessary for some serious character development. Like, God, Alex is changing, people. I mean, wouldn't you? But, like I said, this is the chapter where Alex finds out what's going on but not before some intense stuff goes down. Aaannnndd, she might not find out the way you think. **

**SERIOUS HUGE TRIGGER WARNING FOR DRUG ABUSE, GENERAL ABUSE, ALCOHOL ABUSE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS. PLEASE DON'T READ IF THIS COULD AFFECT YOU!**

**I'll put a * before and after the triggery parts so you can skip if you want. If you need any summing up of what happens during these parts without detail, just pm me :). **

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_"I really am sorry, Alex. I'm just trying to protect her."_

_Alex didn't give an indication that she had heard, she just kept walking down the driveway, around the corner, and back to her flat, where she once again broke down._

_Hate. She hated herself. She was a selfish, spiteful, uncaring bitch. Raz was right with everything he said about her._

_She needed a fix._

That fix was hard to come by. Her usual dealer had been busted to the police – again – and so Alex found herself back at the pub, sitting moodily at the bar and drinking whatever it was the barman kept putting in front of her. This was going to get expensive. She didn't know if she had the money to be able to pay for it. She didn't want to think about that, so she bought another one.

She took her drinks with shaking, gooseflesh-covered arms that ached as she held them out. Withdrawal. She had held off since yesterday for April, but she supposed that didn't matter now.

"Alrigh'?" someone drawled, leaning against the empty spot at the bar next to Alex.

She turned to him with dull eyes, "What do you want?"

"You're that Alex 'olmes ain't yah?"

"Barely," she muttered after giving him a curt nod.

"'eard what 'appened to yah. Not that I need the papers to figure that one out. Can always spot a smackhead."

Alex snorted, "That a Where's Wally spin off?"

The boy – dressed shabbily, with breath like a creaking door and voice like the grumble of an old car – took a seat beside her.

"Y'know, would'a thought you'd'a gotten over it by now. That Sherlock Holmes's been for what almost two years now, isn't it? But you're still like this."

Alex pressed her lips together, saying dryly, "Have you ever heard of an addiction?"

"What you addicted to? Being sad?"

"Among other things."

"Well looks like those _other things _have been neglected. When was your last fix, sweet'eart?"

The barman handed Alex another drink and she snatched it, draining it in one. She barely flickered.

"That long?" the boy laughed. "Well I know where you can get some."

"Where?"

"I've got it."

"What's your price?"

"Just a little something."

Alex looked at him warily, "I can give you money…"

"This isn't just your ordinary street stuff. This is _beauty. _You gotta pay more than just money."

Alex looked down at her empty glass, trying and succeeding to not show any emotion that might give her thoughts away. She needed something. The withdrawal was beginning to really set in and she knew in a few minutes, she wouldn't be standing. And nothing did getting rid of guilt like a high.

She thought of April sat all alone on her doorstep, out in the cold waiting for her on her birthday.

"Fine," she muttered.

A wolfish grin appeared on his face, "Outside, then. Don't wanna give it you in 'ere."

With a swallow, she slipped off the barstool and he caught her as her leg buckled. She pushed off from him, his touch making her skin crawl. He just held up his hands and opened the door for her.

The cold immediately hit her, and she wished it was summer again. Once he had shut the door, she wheeled on him.

"Come on then."

"Wait," he sent a look to the group of girls stood on the other side of the street. "Get somewhere a bit more covered. Here."

He took her sleeve and pulled her to the alley alongside the bar. Alleys weren't good. Alleys meant danger. Danger meant you had to run. But Alex found that she couldn't. Everything felt fuzzy and distant and all that mattered was getting her drugs so she could feel normal again. So she stumbled after him, until he was almost holding her up. She felt like a doll.

Before she could do anything, her back hit the wall of the alley and his lips were on hers and something sharp was in her arm. She hadn't expected anything else. She didn't fight back, she just wondered when it was that she became so pathetic.

* * *

><p>"Anderson," Greg groaned. "Come on, let's just enjoy the night without any more of your theories."<p>

"But this one makes sense–"

"That's what you said about the last fifty! Let it go. Where are we going now?"

Anderson sighed, "I think I'll go back home actually."

Greg looked at him sadly, "Come on, mate. Just one more drink, eh? Before you go back and obsess on your own. You need social interaction."

"…Fine."

"Have you been looking for another job?" he asked as they walked over to the next pub.

"Uh… yeah."

"So that's a 'no' then. Honestly, you can't let this take over your life. He's dead, move on."

Anderson grumbled something and skirted around a group of girls. They eyed him strangely.

"How about finding yourself a girl?" Greg suggested. "It might do you good."

"Hmm."

"Come on," Greg said, stopping just a few paces away from the girls. He lowered his voice. "If you could go over and give one of them your phone number, which one would it be?"

"Do I mention I'm recently divorced and run a club called The Empty Hearse where I band together a bunch of strangers and swap theories about how that detective that threw himself of St Bart's is still alive?"

"Stop mocking me, I'm serious. Which one."

Anderson grumbled again and turned to look at the group, "I don't know… maybe the blonde one. Her hair's nice," he looked over the road as the pub door opened there. "Wait, Greg, is that…?"

"What? See someone?"

"No… it can't be…"

Greg frowned and followed his line of sight, "Who are you - ? Oh no."

"Is that Alex?"

Sure enough, the niece of Sherlock Holmes came staggering out of the pub, clutching onto a boy Greg didn't recognise. She looked so much worse than the last time he saw her.

"Who's she with?" Anderson asked.

"That's a good question," Greg muttered, narrowing his eyes when the boy's hold on Alex became more possessive, looking more like he was pulling her instead of holding her up. When he began to lead her into the alley, Greg began to walk across the road, Anderson close behind him. "I don't like the look of this."

As they caught up to them and rounded the corner into the alcove, they fell silent, shocked when they first saw what was happening, before snapping into action and yelling. The boy immediately let go of Alex, who dropped to the ground as he ran and climbed over the gate further down the alley into the private area behind the pub.

Greg debated running after him but took one look at Alex and knew that she was his priority.

"Alex," he knelt beside her.

Her chin was on her chest and she refused to look at him.

"Alex, look at me. I just want to see you're okay."

It took her a few seconds but she lifted up her head and let him see her swollen lips and mascara smudged eyes. Her eyes were glassy and breaths loud and laboured.

"Did he…?"

She shook her head.

"Have you taken something?"

She head bobbed once and fell back against her chest. Greg took that as a very emphatic 'yes'.

"Will you let me help you up?" he asked gently.

She nodded and he tried to help her up as carefully as he could. Anderson, still in shock, grabbed her other arm.

"We're going back to my flat, okay? And then I'm going to call Mycroft."

Alex didn't seem to hear, or she would have had some adverse reaction to the sound of her uncle's name.

Greg spoke over her head to Anderson, "Get a cab."

* * *

><p>When Mycroft got the call, he was tracking Sherlock. His brother was now making his way to Switzerland for one of the most dangerous missions of the operation. Though he would deny it until the day he died, the thought of his little brother in the middle of that made him anxious, and debate whether or not to abandon the whole plan.<p>

Already on edge to begin with, when Detective Inspector Lestrade's name flashed up on his phone, his nerves began to do cartwheels.

"Is it Alex?" he asked, without even a greeting.

_"… Yes. She's at my place. I've called an ambulance, you should get to the hospital in time if you set off now."_

"What's happened?" Mycroft demanded, standing up and already pulling on his coat.

_"There was a boy and he… look, just get here. I-I don't know if…"_

For a moment, Mycroft couldn't move. No. Surely not. Surely it couldn't have gotten to that. Not with Alex. Not with that bouncy, curly-haired child he had attempted to raise.

But then again, she wasn't that child anymore. She wasn't _a _child anymore and she had made it abundantly clear that she wasn't his. She had no idea how much that had actually hurt him, and now, with this, he wasn't sure if he could take much more.

* * *

><p>She was asleep when he arrived. Lestrade had ushered him into the private room, where Alex laid on the hospital bed with several tubes and wires attached to her. It was eerily like the night of Sherlock's funeral, except this time, Alex looked like a corpse. She was completely still and white as snow, except for her lips, which were bruised and swollen. Mycroft noted that with a surge of anger as Lestrade told him what had happened. The detective inspector then went to get them some coffee, leaving Mycroft alone with Alex.<p>

He pulled out a chair and sat beside her head, staring down at her. Dead. She could have easily been. There was no trace of life in her at all, like a just-broken bulb in a lamp. They had told him she would be just fine, but those words hadn't described Alex for quite a while now.

He rubbed a hand across his forehead. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. When he and Sherlock had made their plan, this was never ever even a consideration, but he knew that if he told her now, she would off after him in a heartbeat, and then she really would be dead.

He picked up her notes and hung his head. _Overdose. _He had read that twice too many times.

The sound of her inhaling sharply made him drop the notes. He touched her forehead. She was boiling.

"Alex, are you awake?" he asked.

There was no reply. She whined and curled in on herself, beginning to shiver.

Mycroft pulled the blanket back and folded it at her feet, trying to bring down her temperature. Being that hot wasn't healthy in the slightest. She writhed again, almost falling off the bed, and Mycroft held down her arms so she wouldn't pull out her IV line.

"Calm down, Alex. It's me. Calm down."

She wasn't awake or reacting to stimuli in the room, whatever it was, was in her mind.

"You're dreaming. Whatever is hurting you isn't real."

"No," she moaned. _"NO!"_

"It's not real!"

Alex began to sob, "Please, no."

"It's alright," Mycroft said softly, completely unsure as to what he was supposed to do. Sherlock had been easier to deal with than this. "Alex, listen to me, please. Just hold on. Six months. Just hold on for six months and I promise you'll get better. Please. Just hold on."

* * *

><p><em>Just hold on.<em>

Those words echoed around the hall she was in. It reverberated off the tall walls, each syllable louder than the last, making her clamp her hands to her ears. She didn't recognise the voice.

"Stop!" she yelled. "Stop! I hear you!"

It did.

The hall was one she didn't recognise. It was old and unused, it's wooden flooring broken and mouldy, covered in a thick layer of dust which parted into footprints as Alex walked. It smelt musty and dank, yet somehow familiar. Maybe she had been there as a child.

"Do you know where you are?" a voice said.

Alex's shoulders slumped, "You again. Where's Sherlock?"

Moriarty strolled over to her, nudging his arm against hers, "He's not with me."

"Mum?"

He smiled, "Busy. Walk with me?"

Expressionless, Alex allowed him take her arm, being saved from his touch by her jumper.

"Why are you back?"

"It's been a few weeks since you last saw me. You need me."

"I don't need anyone other than those I just asked for."

Moriarty grinned, "That's not true. You've weighed down on every other member of your little 'family' for the best part of eighteen months. You know how you've kept them awake at night, kept them constantly waiting for a call to say something's happened to you, kept little April waiting for you until her birthday cake spoiled."

Alex felt tears prick her eyes, "Please, no."

He stopped, his face morphing into one of concern, "Oh, I didn't mean to make you upset. I just wanted to tell you something. That's why I'm here. I only ever want to help you, Alex."

_He's lying, he's lying! Alex, wake up you idiot, he's lying! _the voice screaming to her wasn't her own. She couldn't place it. So she ignored it.

"What is it?"

"You were almost hurt tonight. Very hurt. You nearly died. And now, Uncle Mycroft is sat by your bedside on the phone to a rehabilitation centre for you. Six months will be a long time, Alex. And you won't have me while you're there."

"R-rehab? But he… no, he… he tried that and... Why would…?"

"Because you're bothering him!" Moriarty exclaimed, as if it were obvious. "Don't you see? They want you out of the way so they can carry on with their lives. You're holding them back."

Alex shook her head, tears gathering. She kept up her mask in real life, but inside her head, she was vulnerable, pathetic, and dependant.

"They love me."

"No doubt they do, but there's only so much they can take. When was the last time you said you love them back? Or even showed anything other than animosity and hate for them? Hmm? Alex, you need to wake up and stop living in this selfish little bubble of yours. Everyone else is trying to move on and be happy but you won't let them."

Alex turned away from him, wiping her eyes. It was true. Everything he was saying was true. It was obvious. She just hadn't wanted to think about it.

"Why is it you telling me this? Why isn't it Sherlock or Mum?" she asked quietly.

"It _is _me."

Sherlock. Alex quickly turned and saw him stood exactly where Moriarty had been. Without a word, she ran to him, hiding in his arms. He held her tightly.

"Moriarty said you weren't coming," she mumbled against his coat.

"He lies."

Sherlock knew. He was the only one to truly understand her. He knew how it felt to be so weak and ashamed, and how hard it was to get better.

"I can't go to rehab, Sherlock. I can't."

"I did," he reminded her softly.

"But I'm not you. I'm not as strong as you. Besides, you had something to live for when you got back out. I've already burnt all my bridges."

"You have Mycroft."

She shook her head, dislodging more tears and constricted him even more in her grasp, "Every time I see him, I j-just think of you and of… of how much I'm hurting him and _have _hurt him and I can't do it anymore. I can't feel this guilt anymore," her voice rose in panic. "I can't do it on my own but I can't drag anyone else down with me. I-I mean, I have you and I _want_ you but if I do this and get clean and get better, I lose you. If I do this, I… I-I have to say goodbye and I can't do that. I can't do that again!"

"Calm down. Calm down, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Sherlock didn't call her that.

She turned her head and her face split into a distraught smile, "Mum."

She held out her hand and cupped her cheek, gently wiping away her tears the way no one else could. Her touch was ghostlike and cold, and it was exactly what Alex wanted. Still clinging onto Sherlock with one hand, she pulled her mother to her with the other and began to cry into her shoulder, until she was sandwiched between the two people she wished more than anything else would come back to her.

She rubbed her back, murmuring soothing words and telling her over and over how much she loved her.

"Then why did you both leave me?" she whispered.

May tipped her head up so that their identical eyes locked, "We didn't. We love you; that means we never left you."

Alex's face crumpled, "I don't want that. I want this. I want us to stay like this, properly. But every time I do, I'm killing myself and everyone else around me."

Sherlock rested his chin on her head, "Six months. You can do six months."

"I don't think I can do six minutes," she muttered brokenly. "I've had enough now. I've had enough of this. That boy could have killed me tonight but I went with him because I didn't care if he did… Maybe that's why I leave my front door open at night. Or why if a stranger asks to come in, I say go ahead."

"You don't want to die, Al'," Sherlock said. "You're too young."

"I'm younger than you were," Alex said to her mother. "But only a little," she looked up at Sherlock. "And I'm just as desperate as you were. Neither of you can tell me you don't know how I feel because you've both done the same thing."

"You're right."

He was back. Sherlock pulled her closer and her mother's arm appeared protectively over her as she turned to see Moriarty watching them. He stayed where he was, just a few metres away.

"Look at us," he said. "The three biggest influences in your life. Look what we've all done to ourselves."

He angled his head and showed her the back. The bloody mess. Alex looked up at Sherlock to see blood across his face, and the necklace of bruises around her mother's neck. She looked away in shame.

"It's no wonder you're ending up just the same."

The old Alex would have fought against him, told him he was wrong and that she was going to prove him wrong, but she wasn't the old Alex. The old Alex turned the bad things that happened to her around and made herself stronger. This Alex just laid down and took it. This weak, pathetic, thing with which the old Alex only shared a name.

"How will you do it?" he stepped forwards now, coming towards her. "Like me? Like Uncle Sherlock? Like Mum?"

He lifted up one of her arms and suddenly she didn't feel the presence of her family behind her. Where were they?

"Or will you find your own way?" he traced one of the long scars on her arm, another she didn't remember doing.

The moment he brushed against her skin, she yanked back, falling against the wall. She shook her head over and over.

"D-don't… d-don't touch me," she wrapped her arms around her knees, beginning to rock slightly. "Please don't touch me. Don't. Don't touch me. Please."

He knelt in front of her, tilting his head slightly, "They're gone now, Alex."

She shook her head, "They're not."

"They are. When was the last time you shot up? They're starting to fade, Alex. Things are starting to glitch. There's only me left now. Only fear."

She could feel it. That crushing, crippling terror. It crept through her bones like a disease.

"You have two options," he said. "You scramble around for a fix stronger than the last, or…"

They both looked down at her arms. She knew what he was implying.

"People have died for a lot less, Alex. You'd be dying for the freedom of what little remains of your family. Mycroft could finally move on with his life, Lestrade could stop worrying about you, John could stop setting the table for three on the off-chance, Molly could stop wondering when you'll finally call, Mrs Hudson could finally let out 221B again, and April could finally accept that you're not coming back and will be able to stop leaving blueberry muffins by her open window every night. You'll be setting them all free and reuniting with us, for real. No more worrying, no more pain, no more fear…"

His voice became the only thing she could hear besides the beating of her heart. His poisonous, contagious words. His toxic truths.

"You're about to wake up," he said. "Will I be seeing you soon?"

He was right, everything was beginning to blur. The walls of the hall were crumbling, the colours swirling into grey. He raised his eyebrow expectantly as he too began to distort.

"Yes."

Waking up was harder than she expected. Her eyelids felt so heavy, along with all of her limbs. It felt as if somehow her blood had turned to cement. Her throat hurt too, and her stomach. It stung. That was strange.

"Alex?"

Mycroft. So he was with her. He wouldn't have stayed at hers. What happened after Greg found her?

That smell. That smell was very familiar. What smelt like that again?

"You're in hospital, Alex. Can you hear me?"

Hospital. That made things harder.

"Can you open your eyes?"

_I'm trying!_

"Move your hand if you can hear me."

It took effort but Alex was able to loosely clench her fist and release it again. She took a few deep breaths and forced her eyes to open. Everything was blurry at first but slowly she began to make out the image of Mycroft sat on the very edge of the seat, staring at her intently. He looked old and tired.

"M'sorry," Alex mumbled.

He grimaced a little, checking the door was closed. Once he did, he began to run his hand through her hair, "I am too."

"Why does–" she tried to clear her throat. "Why does my throat and stomach hurt?"

Mycroft's hand stilled, "You're sick, Alex. But you're going to get better."

"I… I overdosed, didn't I?"

He nodded, "Whatever that boy gave to you was too strong. At least in the state you're in it was."

Alex turned away, looking up at the ceiling. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes and she sniffed. Everything was such a mess. Moriarty was right. She had to do this. She couldn't stay here. But how could she say goodbye to Mycroft?

"Once you're feeling better, you're going to go to a rehabilitation centre in the countryside. You can get clean and then we'll work out how to build a proper life for you from there," he smiled sadly. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise."

He had no idea. He really had no idea at all.

Alex glanced down at her left arm, where several needless buried beneath clear plastic stickers and white circles. Through the crisscross of bruises, scars, and wires, there was a dull black mark. She saw that Mycroft was now looking at it too.

With cold hands, he pulled back the tape holding in the cannulas and exposed the shaky tattoo beneath. It was faded and showed the tell-tale signs of a just-healed infection. Alex watched Mycroft's face. It was impassive.

"I don't remember doing it, if it's any consolation," she said quietly. "I think I stole the equipment from a parlour."

"You? Oh, it's your handwriting."

"You haven't seen it for a while, it's okay."

He looked at it a while longer and then covered up the I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES with the plasters again. He swallowed and Alex felt her eyes sting.

She had to do this. Now.

"Could you… could you get me a drink of water please?"

He nodded, "Of course. I'll be a couple of minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

He stood up, hesitated, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. Alex squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to openly sob. This was it. This was goodbye.

"I love you," she blurted out.

Mycroft paused, halfway through the door, "And I, you."

"And I…" her breathing quickened. "I want to thank you for everything you've done for me, and I want y-you to know that I forgive you for everything that happened and I'm so sorry being so horrible and for making you worry and…" there was so much to say, so much more than could be condensed into the short time she had left. "I just love you."

Knowing she was going to fall apart if she kept looking at him, she closed her eyes. She felt the side of the bed sink slightly as he sat down. His hand found hers and he squeezed.

"You are worth far more than you think, Alex Holmes, to me and everyone around you. Far more."

It was close now. She was going to start to cry. It was so close.

"Do you still want that water?"

She managed a quick nod.

"I'll be as quick as I can."

The pressure on her hand lifted and only when Alex heard the soft click of the door closing again, did she take the pillow from behind her head, press it to her face, and scream. Then she forced herself to be quiet, tears streaming from her eyes the entire time, as she tugged the IV lines out of her arms and pulled herself out of the bed. It took a lot of effort to keep standing but once she was up, she found that walking wasn't too difficult. Whatever medication they had given her had done some good.

Just beside her bed, there was a bag of clothes and things from her flat, along with a few additions. One of these additions was a dressing gown which Alex pulled on over the pyjamas she was wearing, not having time to change. At the bottom of the bag was her video recorder. She took that too. That was all she needed.

The corridor outside the room was empty, and so was the lift. Alex slipped past the reception desk and flinched at sudden noise of the bustling street outside. She held out her hand for a cab and one stopped, pulling up beside her.

"Where to, Miss?" the cabbie asked.

She hadn't even thought about it. She hadn't planned that. But as soon as the cabbie asked her, she knew exactly. She gave the address.

* * *

><p>Home.<p>

Alex closed the door behind her. Unlike when she had come here with Moriarty, she had no problem with looking at the stairs. Her mum had died there. That top step. That was where Alex had watched. But that didn't matter now.

It was getting dark outside. Alex didn't turn on the light for fear of alerting the neighbours to someone being in the house for the first time in thirteen years. Someone would find her eventually. Or rather, they'd find her body. She would be somewhere far, far away by that time.

With a quaking hand, Alex placed the video recorder on the living room rug. It still had the stain of coffee from when Alex's mother had spilt it all those years ago.

Alex pressed the button and sat back.

* * *

><p>Her eyes are misty before she even begins.<p>

"… Um… Sherlock left a note so I… I supposed… I should too… Wow, this is hard…okay," she lifts her head. "I'm not Alex. I haven't been for some time now, and I'm sure that you know that. And if you find the rest of the videos on this thing you'll see just how messed up my life became… towards the end," she frowns. "Sorry, that sounds… this is happening. I mean, this is… the end. I'd thought I'd get to, y'know, do a bit more with my life but… didn't work out, eh?" a tear slips down her cheek and she impatiently brushes it away. "I, um, I had better… maybe I should..."

Her shoulders shake with the effort of trying not to cry. Three long minutes go by. Finally, she lifts her head to the camera, streaked, stained, and sallow. She opens her mouth to speak.

_Battery low._

* * *

><p>Alex frowned, sniffling and closing the camera. She hadn't finished. She needed some paper.<p>

There was only one room in the house where she knew she'd find that. Her old room.

It hadn't changed. Still purple, still messy, and her desk still littered with pink notebooks and glitter pens. She picked one of them up and sat down on her little wooden desk chair. There was only one of the glitter pens that still worked. It was red.

_I'm sorry. I never meant to cause you all so much pain and sadness and this is the most effective way I can think of to end it. You'll grieve, but you'll move on. I know that sounds incredibly hypocritical of me but I know you're all much, much stronger than I am. You're capable of moving on and I'm doing the first unselfish thing that I have done in a long time, and letting you._

_I don't want you to feel sad. There's nothing you could have done. My mind's messed up, big time._

There were several scribbles as she attempted to write more, then crossed it out. Underneath the black mess was her final sentence.

_I love you all so much and this is NOT your fault. This is completely and utterly down to me and I'm sorry for that._

_All my love,_

_Alex_

_X_

Eyes so blurry, Alex had to feel the walls to make her way back to the living room. This was it. This was happening. This was the end. She wished now that she had taken something so that her mum and Sherlock could help her through it. She would have to do this bit alone, but after that, she would never be alone again.

***Trigger warning***

Alex unhooked the mirror from the wall over the mantelpiece, stood back, and dropped it, letting it shatter across the floor. She looked down at her reflection, echoed back to her a thousand times at a thousand different angles, every fragment painted with the mess she was. Then she stooped down and picked one piece up, rolling up her sleeve.

The longest scar she had, she had apparently done by accidently slipping on a broken bottle. It stretched from the crook of her elbow to the base of her wrist, just bypassing her tattoo. If she followed that, it would work. It would all be over in minutes.

Still, as she hovered over the skin, hand trembling, she found herself unable to do it.

"Come on, come _on," _she hissed through gritted teeth. "Come on."

She needed someone to help her. She needed them.

_"Come on, Alex, don't be so pathetic," _Moriarty's voice drawled.

"I want them, not you!"

_"Do it. Just do it, Alex."_

"I can't," she sobbed, her face slick with tears and sweat.

_"You're weak!"_

"It's not weak to want to live!"

_"But you don't want to live! That's why you're here! That's why you listened to me! You're a burden on everyone while you're still alive, and that wall between you and your family will be stronger than ever. This is what you want, Alex. You know it is. Just do it. It'll all be over in a minute. Everything will be over."_

Alex took noisy, splintered breaths, "I… I."

She adjusted her grip on the fragment of mirror, angling it again over her arm. Over the I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES. Just don't believe in his niece.

_"That's it. Do it for them, Alex. Do it for your family."_

She could do anything for her family. She _would _do anything for her family.

_"Do it!"_

With a sharp intake of breath, Alex brought the shard down.

"NO!"

Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling the hand holding the mirror away from her the second before it made contact. She struggled against them, writhing and yelling, all the while crying.

***End***

"Alex, stop! Stop it right now!"

The hand turned her around, forcing her to look at the face of the man holding her.

William.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he thundered.

She stared up at him pitifully, "Will…"

He carefully uncurled her fingers from the glass, letting it fall with a crack onto the floor. It had bitten into the fingers on her right hand, leaving what looked like a bad cane stripe.

"This is _not _okay," he said, voice dangerously low. "Explain, now."

"I… I want to…"

"Die? Is that it? You're better than that, Alex. Everyone is better than that."

She shook her head, pulling away from him, "Y-you don't understand! H-h-he told me! H-he said I could be with… he said I could be with… _them. _I wanna be with _them, _Will. Don't take that away from me."

"Whoa, whoa, who's 'he' and who're 'they'?"

She didn't answer him, just pressed her hands against her face and sunk to the floor. William watched her uncertainly for a moment, then his eyes widened. He sat on the floor beside her and took her right arm, rolling up the sleeve. His eyes raked over the bruises and scars, getting sadder and sadder by the second. Then he took the left and did the same thing. He let them fall.

"Alex, I had no idea. I would have…"

"Helped?" she asked bitterly. "I don't want help. Then I can't see them."

"'Them' as in…?" he didn't need to finish the sentence.

Alex nodded, sniffing.

"You ruined it," she said. "I should be dead by now, with them."

"That's not how it works."

"It is. He told me."

William narrowed his eyes. He sighed, "Moriarty."

Her eyes slipped out of focus.

"I don't think he ever really left my head," she said distantly. "He's just stronger now," she picked at her sleeve with a bitter smile. "I'm better at storing people when they're dead, it seems."

"Alex, they're not real. They aren't the people you know, they're just what your mind has made up. Dying won't take you to them."

Alex got to her feet unsteadily, emotions rising, "But I can't stay here! Not even for one more day! I've already destroyed myself, William. I'm already gone!"

He stood up too, "You're not–"

She ignored him, trudging over the bed of broken glass and staggering to the open front door.

"I can't… I don't know," her eyes turned downcast, then she laughed sourly. "Maybe Sherlock had the right idea. Th-throwing myself of a building might be easier."

"Alex, wait!" William scrambled after her, but she was already down the path to the road. "Alex!"

She rounded on him, looking so utterly broken as she said, "William, there is nothing you can say to me that will make me change my mind."

She then turned again, fully intent on collaring another taxi.

William licked his lips, running a hand through his messy hair. Should he? Dare he? If it was to save her…

"Alex!"

He was doing it, he was telling her, it was too late to stop now.

"What, William?" she asked.

She looked so finished, so accepting of what she was doing. Tears had dried on her face – he wondered how many – and her eyes were filled with something so heart-wrenching, that he had never seen in someone's eyes before. There was no doubt in William's mind now.

"Alex, Sherlock's alive."

* * *

><p><strong>Wooo! She knows! And Will is back! Who's ready for badass Alex? :D This is the beginning of the happier chapters :DD<strong>

**Also, there's a nice Little Innocent chapter uploaded to take our minds off this :)**

**I hope everyone's okay after that chapter, it was quite an intense but necessary one, I promise. What Alex did will play a huge part in her future, and so will her addiction/depression/general behaviour during these last few chapters.**

**HUGE thank you to: Crossing the Galaxy 22, RainbowSilenced, i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, Lost-Time-Traveller11, Guest, POTC misty potter temple, emilybrock101, kuppcake, Guest, artemishuntress88, shnuffeluv, and Guest for reviewing! **

**Replies will be sent in the morning because I'm too sleep-deprived to function.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Have a great day,**

**Abby**

**X**


	116. New Old Alex

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or anything related to the show. All rights go to the BBC. I own Alex :)**

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Exams are killing me. How do you even do a physics? Urgh. Anyway, here's the next chapter! This plot will last about two or three chapters and I might even be able to upload the next chapter on Wednesday or Thursday this week to cut down waiting times.**

**WARNING: Strong language (can you blame her?)**

**Enjoy:**

_Previously:_

_She then turned again, fully intent on collaring another taxi to take her to the next place she was to try and end her life. _

_William licked his lips, running a hand through his messy hair. Should he? Dare he? _

_"Alex!" _

_He was doing it, he was telling her, it was too late to stop now. _

_"Sherlock's alive."_

Alex stopped, staring directly in front of her.

"I expected more of you," she said.

"I'm not lying, I swear," William said. "I promise. Just please think about this."

"Don't be so awful, William. I saw Sherlock die. I know he's dead," she went to pull the door of the cab open.

"I have proof!"

"Sure you do."

Despite everything, Alex found herself hesitating, holding onto the car door handle for much longer than necessary as she heard William rifle in his pocket. He tapped a few buttons and Alex felt her knees go weak.

_"Is she okay? Mycroft, answer me goddammit. You were meant to call yesterday. If you don't call back in the next ten minutes, I'm coming back."_

That voice. Oh God that voice. It was one she had only heard in her head, but now it was out in the open, for everyone to hear. Sherlock. Her Uncle Sherlock.

She turned slowly to face William, "This is a cruel trick. How dare you make me listen to… that… when he's… he's dead."

He walked towards her, wrenching her hand from the cab. The cabbie muttered something and drove away. Alex tried to call him back but William stopped her, pulling her back into the house.

"Get off me, get _off _me! Stop trying to trick me!"

He shoved the phone in front of her.

"The date, look at it," he ordered.

"No."

"Look at it, Alex!"

"NO!"

"LOOK!" he thrust it in front of her face, so that she had no option but to see.

The timestamp said it was three months ago.

"Timestamps can be doctored," she said, trembling.

William growled in frustration and brought up another message.

_"You're seven minutes late, why haven't you called? For God's sake, hurry up!"_

Alex flinched again at the voice, "You could have gotten that from anywhere. Sherlock's always bellowing at Mycroft for something."

"Pictures! I have pictures!"

"Yeah, so have I!"

"_Recent _pictures!"

"There's this brilliant thing called Photoshop!"

"Fine. _Fine," _he snatched the phone back and punched in a number. "You stay quiet, do _not _make a sound."

"What are you - ?"

Just like that, William had her pinned to the wall, one hand firmly over her mouth. She tried to fight back, but just that one hand managed to keep her completely still and completely silent. She glared at him as he pressed 'call' and put it on loudspeaker.

The dialling tone filled the air for long, long seconds and Alex just glowered at William until there was a click and the call connected. Her eyes flickered to the phone.

_"… Hello?"_

Alex gasped against William's hand, eyes wide, as every muscle in her body went weak. No. That was impossible. It was still a trick. Still a trick. It had to be. But that was _his _voice.

_"Hello? Mycroft?" _

It was real-time. The seconds on the screen were counting, and that voice definitely wasn't just a recording. It was real.

William lifted it to his mouth, "Lazarus."

_"Who is this?"_

"Message from Mycroft Holmes."

_"Go on."_

"Alex is in hospital. She's been hurt. She's okay, she's with me. No need to worry."

_"What?! How? By who?"_

William locked eyes with Alex, "End of message."

He tapped the button to end the call and let go of Alex. She slid down the wall. He sat beside her, not touching, not talking, just sitting. Tears ran silently down her face but she gave no indication that she felt them.

The phone rang again several times but William didn't answer. He just kept staring at her, as her face filled with emotions so powerful and complex that she just looked blank, except for the clouding in her eyes and tracks down her cheeks.

"He's alive," she whispered.

* * *

><p>Mycroft cursed himself. He should have known Alex would pull something like this. She always had, not being able to stay in a bed for too long, even when she really needed to. Though, there was something about her when she had spoken to him just now, a vulnerability that he hadn't seen in her for a long time. Something human. He had been hoping to see it every time he visited and had been disappointed, but now, he wished he hadn't seen it at all.<p>

"Sir, she's not back at her flat," a man – whose name Mycroft didn't care to remember – told him. "Somehow she managed to dodge past every camera. I mean, she must have gotten a cab or something but… sir, if you don't mind me asking, who is this girl? She must be quite something to–"

"She's my niece."

"Oh. I suppose that explains it. Sorry, I'll get some more people working on it."

Mycroft nodded and sat back at his desk. This was his fault. He knew that. In the beginning, there had been some level of self-reassurance, that he wasn't to blame, that he was right to do what he did. He still stood by that, he did genuinely believe that not telling Alex was why she was alive right now, but that knowledge didn't come alone. It came with a truckload of guilt.

Somewhat shyly for once, Anthea popped her head around the door and knocked quietly. He waved her in.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

She sighed, "I thought she'd go back to that flat or to a friend's but it's all empty. I suppose the next step is bars and clubs and deal – " Anthea cleared her throat. "We'll find her soon. Someone in her state can't keep hidden for long, even if that person is Alex."

"I hope you're right."

"I am," Anthea said, and hesitated. "I know it's not my place to say…"

"Since when has that stopped you?"

"I was just wondering if you have told your brother about this?"

Mycroft picked up his glass and took a drink. He set it down slowly, "No."

Anthea didn't look shocked. Disappointed, perhaps.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"He's in the middle of a dangerous operation. He's in deep with some of Moriarty's most lucrative clients. I can't justify distracting him and getting him killed too," Mycroft sighed, adding quietly. "I need to concentrate on just one of them for the moment."

Anthea nodded, "Sir, have you ever thought that maybe Alex knowing could be a good thing, even if you tell her now?"

"Telling her now would make the rift between us an ocean. Not to mention she'd run straight after Sherlock. Believe me, this is the best option. Nothing good will come of her knowing, not until all of this is over."

Anthea went to speak again but instead bobbed her head once, "I'll go and see what's happening. Maybe we could try her old home."

* * *

><p>Alive. He was alive. Sherlock Holmes, her uncle, the one who she had seen plunge to his death, the closest person to a father she had ever had, the reason she had torn her life apart, was alive. A year and a half of agony and he was alive. Alive.<p>

It was light when Alex finally broke out of her shock enough to speak.

"Why?" she whispered.

William spoke softly, "He was taking down Moriarty's web. Once Moriarty was dead, he needed to close down all of the operations he had around the world. To do that, he had to make the world believe he was dead so he could shut them all down secretly. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't tell you because they knew that you would go with him. You couldn't just stay here. So, to keep you safe, they made you believe he was dead too."

When Alex spoke, it was dangerous, almost a growl, "'Safe'? _Safe? _They did this to keep me _fucking safe?!" _she sprang to her feet, rolling her sleeves back up, showcasing every bruise and scar and needle mark. "This is what they did to me! THIS!"

Overwhelmed with fury, Alex turned and pounded her fist against the wall. Her breathing was heavy and fast, hands shaking by her side.

"Where is he?" she demanded, pushing off from the wall. "Where is he William?!"

"Switzerland."

"Right," she barged past him, making for the door.

He pulled her back and she shoved him off her.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To fucking Switzerland!"

"Wait–"

"I'VE DONE EIGHTEEN MONTHS OF WAITING!" she roared, eyes wild. "AND EIGHTEEN MONTHS OF GRIEVING AND I AM NOT GOING TO WAIT ANY LONGER, NOW MOVE OUT OF MY WAY!"

William stood, holding his hands out as if to tame a wild animal, "Listen to me, I know you're angry."

She scoffed.

"Okay, I know you're furious, I would be too. But Mycroft has had people looking for you all night and someone's going to be here any minute. I'm giving you a choice here."

He took her by the shoulders.

"I've been keeping an eye on Sherlock from my home, this is the first time I've been back in London since he left. I honestly didn't know the state you were in or I would have told you, but you can't just go blindly blundering off after him or you'll get yourself _and_ him killed."

"You're not gonna stop me. No one is going to stop me."

"Please, think about this!" he implored.

Alex reluctantly paused, and thought. He was right. She couldn't do it on her own. That was suicide. Suicide was yesterday. Now was the time to live again.

"You," she said simply.

"What?"

"I'm rehiring you."

"You can't do that."

"Jim Moriarty's dead. Alex Moriarty is in charge now, and I'm rehiring you."

William shook his head, "Alex, I left."

"Maybe a change of management could help persuade you to come back. One last time."

He quirked an eyebrow, "And what would my duties be?"

"You have a plan. In case this went wrong, you would have a backup plan thought up. Even if I still don't know your motives for doing so… Well, do you?""

"…Yes," he replied reluctantly.

"We'll follow that one."

"Alex… do you even know what you're saying? You just said you were taking over from Jim. Do you really mean that?"

She stared back at him as evenly as she could, but it faltered. She could feel tears building in her eyes again.

"N-no," she rubbed her eyes. "He's alive, Will. Oh my God, he's alive. I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do?"

He grasped her shoulder firmly, "You need to think about this. You need to think about this very, very carefully."

"I-I don't think I can, I can't think. Goddamn it," she muttered, clutching at her hair.

William licked his lips, "Listen, do you have somewhere to stay where Mycroft won't look for you?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I could go to," her face screwed up as she said the name. "_Logan's _house. It's been rebuilt but no one's moved in. I could get in there."

William nodded, "Go there, think, don't drink. If you still want me to help, meet me at ten o'clock tonight at this hotel," he handed her a card with a room number and the hotel name written on. "This opens the door to the room."

Alex took it and put it in her pocket.

"I won't wait," he warned. "If you're not there by ten, you clearly have doubts. I can't put this much on the line if you're not one hundred percent in."

Alex nodded, and her head snapped to the door as she heard a car pull up outside.

"One of Mycroft's," William muttered.

Alex frowned, "Mycroft… oh my God, he knew. He knew everything and watched me do this to myself for nothing."

She went to push past William to get to the car, but he pulled her back.

"Don't," he hissed. "You want a big scene? Do it after ten o'clock."

"I want to do this now," Alex spat, betrayal written across her face.

William let go and held up his hands, "Fine. You'd rather fight with Mycroft than help Sherlock, that's your call."

She came to an abrupt halt just steps away from the door. She could hear the car engine turn off and the scuffle of people. William was right, she had to push aside her emotions for now. She turned back to him.

"Fine."

"Good. Has this place got a back door?" he asked.

Alex nodded and led him to it just as the front door opened. She pushed open slightly rotting back door into the yard and climbed over the stone wall, just as she used to as a child, only this time she didn't have to stand on the bins to be tall enough. William followed her and dropped onto the cobbles a little more gracefully than Alex. Whatever they had given her at the hospital was beginning to wear off.

"How can you get to Logan's?"

"I can walk."

"I'll come with you."

"No, I need to think."

"You'll have plenty of time to do that, I just need to make sure you don't pass out before you get there."

Alex tutted and moved to turn away, but her left leg suddenly felt very weak and she tilted to the side, having to steady herself on the wall. After a few seconds, the feeling began to come back into them, along with a fizz of pins-and-needles. Reluctantly, she let him walk her to the old Baxter house, their joint expertise in sneaking around London allowing them to avoid detection easily, managing to stop for a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a cheap hoodie for Alex.

He took her to the door, somewhat grudgingly left, but not before handing her a little white, oval pill.

"It'll help with the withdrawal," he said. "It's not exactly good for you, but it'll tide you over and it's better than street heroin."

Alex swallowed it immediately and closed the door, not even waiting for him to go. She fell back against it and landed in a pile on the doormat. She wondered who placed it there. The landlord probably, trying to entice people into buying it. It would take more than a doormat to encourage someone to buy the house where four women were killed.

She hadn't given Logan much thought since John first told her what he had done, how he had betrayed her. That had left her scarred. This new betrayal was burning her alive. She didn't know how much she could take. It was as if someone was testing her, piling more and more onto her shoulders, cramming as much into her head until she broke. Well, the seams had been showing for a long time and Alex could feel the first few threads beginning to snap.

_How _could they have done this? She knew their motives, William had told her and she could see why they would think it was a good idea, she just couldn't comprehend the fact that they were physically capable of doing it. Sherlock had laid there perfectly still, eyes wide and unseeing and she cried and begged for him to stop and wake up. And then Mycroft, for eighteen months, watching her fall apart, not once telling her that it was all a lie. How could two people who claimed to care about her so much possibly do that?

She pushed the thought aside. For now, at least. He was out there, right now. Sherlock was alive and walking around and talking and rolling his eyes in that arrogant, perpetually bored way of his. People were talking to him, a waitress handing him a glass of water. She was nothing to him, literally nothing, yet she had the privilege of seeing him breathing. Something Alex never thought she'd get to see again.

"What am I going to do?" Alex muttered, brushing at her eyes.

The pill was beginning to kick in and her shaking slowly began to subside. She got to her feet and shuffled into the living room, where she dropped onto a sofa, still sealed with plastic wrapping. It squeaked with her weight as it rubbed against her clothes but she didn't care, turning over and resting her head on the crook of her elbow.

Alex was well used to time passing around her, not really noticing the brightening and darkening of each day, constantly staring into the bottom of a bottle or the stained fabric of a mattress but this time, she was completely aware of the progression of the day, without looking at a clock or even out of the window. She just watched the morphing shadow the sun cast on the newly laid wooden floorboards, knowing that the same sun was shining in Switzerland, and that _he _was there to see it.

Only when it got dark, did she finally pull herself up and stand beside the window. She had to decide now. Could she? Was she able to? If she did, and she saw him again, actually _saw _him again, what would she do? What would she say? And Mycroft, could he stop her? Would he have figured out she knew already? Would he help her?

No. Definitely not. Mycroft wouldn't help her dive headlong into danger.

Danger. She had forgotten about that. Sure, she had been shrouded in it since the night Sherlock 'died' but this would be a different kind of danger. This wasn't playing around with needles, this was the old type of danger, the traditional type that she had loved and hated so much growing up. She had been able to do it then, but things were different now. She wasn't as strong as she used to be.

Alex caught sight of her reflection in the window. It wasn't a strong, vivid reflection like it was in the mirror. She was slightly blurry, undefined. She focussed on her eyes, staring back at herself. The deep circles were lightened, vague. Maybe that was how she was going to do this. Be undefined. Be vague. Start again, painting over the canvas of her old life. The deepest scars would still be visible, ridges in the new paint and the new beginning, but she would be how she used to be, turn it around and force it to make her stronger.

The eyes looking back at her narrowed in that old, determined way. It made her smile. Her old smile, but with a hint of something different. Possibly this was her new old smile. New old Alex.

It was time to define herself again.

* * *

><p>The hotel was middle of the road. It wasn't posh enough that Alex – in her dishevelled state – was denied access, but she did get a few questionable looks.<p>

The concierge went to stop her as she passed to go to the lift, but reluctantly let her through as she flashed the card Will had given her without so much as a glance. She had caught sight of the clock above the desk.

10:30.

She had stayed at Logan's longer than she thought.

Her heart began to race. Would he still be there? He had said he would leave… Alex quickened her pace, boots thumping across the lobby as she skidded to a stop and hurriedly pressed t e buttonshurriedly pressed uld leave... the lift, bhthe button for the lift. She rocked back on her heels, chewing the side of her fingernail.

"Come on, come on, come on," she muttered.

She jammed the button again and darted in as the doors opened. Thankfully it was empty, and she could pace inside the little box, pressing the floor dictated on the card several times.

It took way too long for the lift to whizz up through the floors and as soon as the doors opened again, Alex barged past a couple trying to walk in, causing one of them to yell at her. She didn't listen, continuing to half-walk half-run to see the numbers on each of the doors. She was looking for two-hundred-and-twenty-one.

As she reached the hundreds, Alex turned the corner and stopped in front of Will's. She didn't reach for the handle right away. She looked at the golden number stuck on the door. The number had been printed on the card in word-form. This was numerical, and Alex suddenly realised why Will had chosen it.

Room 221.

She glanced down at the floor. There was no light coming through the bristles at the bottom, and none through the sides. Her heart slowed down with disappointment. She was too late. He'd already gone.

Nevertheless, Alex swiped the card on the reader on the wall and opened the door with a gentle push. As she had suspected, the room was in darkness, only the soft light from the streetlights outside created the image of the closed curtains over the window.

Alex felt for a switch. Not finding one, her hand snagged another reader instead, and Alex realised that it was a card-activated light. She placed the plastic card into the reader. The second she slotted it in, light burst into the room and Alex held back a startled cry.

There was William, sat on the bed, a half-grin on his lips.

He said he would go after ten o'clock! It was way after! Why had he waited? Was he still going to help her? Had he called Mycroft? Were they still going after Sherlock?

All of these thoughts flew through Alex's mind, but she didn't say any of them out loud. She settled for a strong, "You knew I'd come."

"Of course I did," he said, getting up off the bed. He walked over and stood just in front of her. "You'll want this."

He handed her another pill.

She took it and threw it in the bin just beside the desk. He raised an eyebrow.

"I don't need it," she said.

He folded his arms, "Really?"

"My love affair with narcotics is over."

"Even ones that help you?"

"Paracetamol and antibiotics, should I need them. Nothing else."

"You know what withdrawal feels like."

"Yes."

"And you're prepared for that?"

She nodded firmly, "I'm done with being weak, William."

He regarded her, seemingly confused, "All this because you know about Sherlock now? You can stop just like that?"

"It isn't just Sherlock being alive. You telling me that, me being here… it's made me believe in second chances again. And purposes. I have a purpose now," she smiled. "I have a case."

He smiled back at her, "We both have a case."

"So what's the plan?"

"We're staying here tonight. When we leave tomorrow, you're leaving Alex in that bathroom."

Alex quirked an eyebrow.

"Disguises. I'm assuming you're well versed in that area."

"Oh yeah."

"Everything you need is already in there. Be quick, you need as much sleep as possible. I'm going down to the bar."

"Fine," Alex said, walking to the door that led to the bathroom. "Have a drink on me."

He narrowed his eyes at her and, after a moment, smirked, "If you need me, I'll be in the room next door."

"Hang on, I thought you were going to the bar?"

"That was just a trick to see if you'd want to follow me down there."

"I don't."

"I know. That's good. The test now is to see if you can keep out of the open minibar underneath the desk," he gave her a grin and slipped out of the door.

Alex watched him go, halfway between being amused, insulted, and proud. Drinking hadn't even crossed her mind, which was saying something considering it had been all that was on her mind for eighteen months.

The smile still planted on her face, Alex pulled the cord for the light in the bathroom and closed the door. First, she took the longest shower of her life, scrubbing away what felt like three layers of skin. Her hair no longer felt like straw, the conditioner seeing to that, and some of the bounce was back in it.

Wrapping a towel around her body, Alex sat on the closed toilet seat, letting her wet hair drip. She had seen the hair dye on the way in and she picked up the box. It was red. She had once painted her hair red as a child, trying to look like the Little Mermaid. Here's hoping it would look a little better than that had.

However, as she went to open the box, she caught sight of a pair of scissors, placed beside the soap on the sink. Her smile dropped. She had to cut her hair? She had always liked her long hair…

"Get a grip," Alex muttered and picked up the scissors, staring into the mirror above.

She picked up a chunk of her hair, pinched it just above her shoulder, and snipped. It fell into the sink, leaving a short, damp lock behind. Two thirds of it was gone. She did _not _suit short hair.

"Priorities," she grumbled again, and did the same to another handful, and another, until the sink was full of thick, curly hair.

Cutting the last piece, Alex stepped back and stared at the new length. Nope. Definitely didn't suit it. In an effort to keep it level – her shaking hadn't helped – she had had to cut it a little shorter than she planned. And, thanks to William's helpful note he had shoved under the door, she had to cut a fringe, which proved difficult.

Now time for the dye. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

><p>Alex had been staring into the mirror for fifteen minutes solid. It was morning, and after an eventful night of dyeing and snipping and touching up, Alex's new look was finished. William had also insisted on other aspects of her appearance to be changed, including thick-rimmed black glasses, a slight darkening of her skin tone, artificial freckles, pale green contact lenses, and slight padding to change the shape of her body.<p>

The girl looking back at her was definitely not someone Alex recognised. It was like she was looking at a photograph of a girl from the other side of the country, not in a mirror, which was, she supposed, the idea.

"Come on," William said, knocking on the door.

Alex tore her eyes away and grabbed her hoodie from the towel rack, returning to the main room. William had packed their stuff into a bag. He pointed to a pair of trainers by the door.

"Put them on. They have hidden platforms to change your height and they'll alter your gait a little too. Normally I wouldn't bother to use them but your uncle is a force to be seriously reckoned with."

"Tell me about it," Alex mumbled, pulling on the shoes.

She was trying not to think about Mycroft. Running from him like this was a scary thought, even if she had plenty of experience in doing it. Though, this was the biggest thing she had ever done against him. He deserved it.

"Off we go then," he said. "You know the drill, don't act too shady, don't put your hood up, walk close to me, _subtly _avoid showing your face to cameras–"

"I get it," she assured him. "So where are we going?"

"King's Cross. We're meeting a friend there."

"A friend?"

"Don't worry, you can trust him. He and I go way back."

Alex phrased what she was going to say next carefully, "Is he like you were?"

"He worked for Moriarty once upon a time. And people like him, too."

Alex shifted, "Are you sure… no, if you trust him, I trust you."

He smiled, "I appreciate that. Better get going, his train arrives in twenty minutes."

Alex nodded and hurried out, hanging behind as William went to the lift, and she shut the door behind her. She paused. 221. She thought of Sherlock. And John. The three of them together. She had thought that was a distant memory, that she was never going to see John again, and she definitely wasn't going to see Sherlock again. But, if this went right, the three of them would return. Things wouldn't be how they used to be, she knew that, but this would change. She wouldn't be alone again. None of them would be.

"Don't worry, John," she murmured. "I'll bring him back."

_And then we can both punch him in the face, _she added silently, before following William to the lobby.

* * *

><p><strong>HUGE thank you to: emilybrock101, Loyal Elf, i-am-sherlocked-for-life-221B, POTC misty potter temple, purplechic13, armstrongjess, Guest, shnuffeluv, Connie Hooper, Slyork1991, Kelliston, Hanna, Guest, Guest, and Rainbow Silenced for reviewing!<strong>

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